Zugzwang
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: A fragile peace settles over the Commonwealth as the Institute Remnant goes on trial and the Minutemen and Brotherhood work to restore order and tranquility. But when a mysterious figure from Elder Maxson's past enters the Commonwealth, nothing will ever be the same... *THE SEQUEL TO DETENTE*
1. From Ashes

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

She would never forget the sound.

They'd flown from the Castle several hours ago, with several Vertibirds flanking the one she was sitting in. There were a few very powerful people sitting in the same bird as her, but this was not a social call. It was business. Though, judging from the looks on everyone's face, this was not the kind of business that they wanted to do. Neither did she. But she was there anyway. It was a favor to him.

He deserved to have some support.

The Vertibirds touched down in the middle of the street. There were a few people that cleared out of the way, while some of the men and women that were out patrolling the perimeter kept a careful hand on their weapons, just in case. Word had travelled out about the Commonwealth Accords, signed three months ago, and of the new relationship between the Brotherhood of Steel and the Minutemen…but that didn't mean that everyone was immediately supportive. And considering what Sanctuary represented, it was understandable that they didn't want to trust the Brotherhood quite yet.

As they disembarked from the Vertibird, one of the Brotherhood initiates helped her get to the ground. He was your typical soldier: head shaved bald, steely eyes, and decked out in the latest in Power Armor. It was even shining in the afternoon sun, so he'd clearly polished it recently. He gave her a little smile, and then asked her if she'd had a safe flight. She nodded. She hadn't thrown up over the side of the Vertibird this time, so that was an improvement.

"Nice of y'all to stop by, Piper."

Piper Wright adjusted her cap, and turned around to see the voice.

"Hey, Sturges."

Sturges had always been one of the nicest people Piper had met in the Commonwealth. She'd met him the first time that Blue dragged her back up to Sanctuary, back when he served as the city "tinkerer/handy-man." But that was back when Preston and, technically, Blue were both in charge of the city. But when they left to take their jobs at the Castle, they'd asked the people of Sanctuary to come up with someone that was the best choice for mayor.

From what Piper heard, there wasn't even an election. Everyone had just pointed at Sturges.

"What's the occasion?" He asked. He was chewing a piece of razorgrain wheat in his teeth. He always had something in his mouth like that: razorgrain, a straw, a toothpick…Struges was about as folksy as it got. But that belied his incredible technical skills. After all, if it wasn't for Sturges, the Minutemen wouldn't have been able to get in and out of the Institute.

"It's…it's Blue." Piper said. She turned around, and saw the man in question. He was surrounded by a few Brotherhood soldiers, and the Elder of the Brotherhood himself, Arthur Maxson. Judging from the quiet tone of conversation and the look on Blue's face, it was clear that Maxson was being very considerate of what his companion was feeling.

"It about the Vault?" Sturges asked. Piper didn't say anything, which was all the answer that the mayor of Sanctuary needed. "Figured. Ain't no one goes up there anymore. Not that we ever really did while y'all still lived here but…ever since he left it's been like a boogeyman up in the hills." He shook his head. "Is it about his wife?"

"How do you know that?" Piper asked.

"I might not look it, but I can put two and two together." Sturges said. "He comes out of that vault, keeps askin' about his kid, won't say what happened to his wife…and he still wears his wedding ring, don't he? He's in mourning. And she's gotta be up in the Vault. Most likely still frozen."

"Now how do you know _that?_ " Piper challenged. Sturges shrugged.

"I explored the upper levels of the Vault a few months ago. I never found his wife, as far as I know…but I can tell you that she ain't the only one up there."

"What do you mean by that?" Piper asked.

"Piper."

She turned around.

Blue was standing behind her, and Arthur Maxson was standing next to him. The latter was surprisingly subdued at the moment. It was a strange sight: Piper had never really liked the Elder of the Brotherhood, and though Blue assured her that though he was an asshole "he wasn't impossible to work with" she wasn't sure that she bought it. But then again, Maxson had willingly provided Vertibirds to Sanctuary, and insisted on riding with Blue. So clearly there was a mutual respect there.

"Yeah, Blue?" Piper asked.

"You've already done so much for me." Blue said. He was a big man, and yet this conversation seemed to make him shrink with every word. "You…you don't have to go down there with us, you know. It's…it's okay if you want to stay in Sanctuary with the others."

Piper shook her head.

"Blue, I told you in the beginning that I wasn't here for half-measures. I'm there for you in the good times, I'll be damned if I abandon you in the bad times."

Blue didn't smile, but the look on his face made it clear that he was grateful.

…

It was unlike anything that she'd ever seen before. The technology looked like the interior of the Prydwen, and yet somehow even more advanced than that. As the Brotherhood scribes furiously took notes on what they saw, Elder Maxson turned to Blue.

"And these vaults were designed to save people?" He asked. Blue looked at him and just shook his head.

"The vaults were never designed to save _anyone._ " He muttered quietly, walking deeper into the mechanical depths of the vault. Piper shivered, and it wasn't because of the cold in the vault.

"Elder!"

She turned to see an initiate frantically waving over to the Elder. Proctor Quinlan, that aging scientist, was standing next to a pod of sorts. The initiate took another glance at the interior, and proceeded to vomit on the floor. Maxson was stunned.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Look inside the pod, Elder." Proctor Quinlan said gravely. Elder Maxson peered inside, and then recoiled sharply.

"Is that-"

"A person?" Piper squeaked. She'd managed to get a closer look, and wished she hadn't. It was someone. She didn't know who. Or how old the person was. There was a combination of freezer burn and decomposition going on with the body. If not for the teeth and dental records, it might be impossible to know who that person was.

"What in God's name…" Maxson began.

"They froze us."

Everyone turned to see Blue in the hallway. He looked worn and tired.

"…What?" Maxson managed to speak.

"Vault-Tec only accepted about 100 people from Sanctuary Hills when the bombs started to drop. They even denied entrance to their own employees. I still remember the screams of people that were denied entrance, begging that the soldiers reconsider." Blue said. "They gave us all vault suits, and then promised that we were going to be 'preserved.' They asked us to step into pods, saying that they were decontamination chambers…they were cryogenic pods."

"Why…why did you survive and this person didn't?" Proctor Quinlan asked.

"We were all frozen for centuries." Blue said. "And then, some years ago, the Institute came into the Vault looking for a pristine human specimen. They dethawed every pod…but only unlocked the one that held my wife and child. I watched them rip my son out of my wife's hands and…" He stopped. "And then they froze me and my wife again, and I didn't wake up for another ten years."

Piper knew that Blue wasn't telling the entire truth. But for the sake of protecting the boy that was currently sitting at the Castle playing with Curie and tinkering with Ada, it was for the best that Maxson didn't know that he was a Synth. Although, Piper also knew that if Maxson so much as lifted a finger against Shaun, Blue would personally end him.

But there was something that Blue had said that was sticking in Piper's craw.

"Blue…" She said. "You said that they re-freezed you and your wife. What about the others?"

Blue just stared at her.

And then he walked away.

Elder Maxson spoke for the entire room.

"This is an evil place."

…

Finally, they reached the deepest part of the vault that anyone could reach. Blue was standing in the center of the room. There were those people pods on both sides of the room, and one of them was already opened. That had to be where Blue had come from. It was…surprisingly small. Some days Piper thought that Blue had just come from the skies from some sort of deity to do good for the Commonwealth but…but instead he'd come from below. Like a demon of sorts. Well, maybe to the bad people of the Commonwealth he _was_ a demon. But as he stood silently in the middle of the room, he didn't acknowledge the others.

"We've activated the other pods. Except for in this room." Elder Maxson said. "We're going to give them all burials. None of them deserve to rot in this place."

No response.

"I hope you don't mind. But I can't in good conscience work in this place without having cleansed it, and given those that died in here peace of mind. They are to be considered victims of the Institute. I don't think that you'll mind when I say that the litany of crimes the Remnant face will include the murders of these people."

Silence.

"General?" Arthur asked. His gruff voice gave way, and once again Piper had to remind herself that he was younger than she was. Blue had once joked to her that he wasn't even legal to drink back from his time, not that the Elder drank anyway. But the way that Maxson switched between commander and child could be jarring.

Blue didn't turn around.

"She's in pod thirteen." He said in a voice no louder than a whisper. Maxson nodded, and turned to the Brotherhood knights that had followed them into the building.

"Activate that pod. And then…leave us." He said.

The Knights pressed the necessary commands into the command console, and then departed.

Blue walked over to the pod in question, and pressed a command button on the console in front of it. Cautiously, Piper and Maxson found themselves walking over.

She was beautiful.

That was the first thing that Piper noticed. She had shoulder-length brown hair, and fair skin with a beauty mark on her left cheek. Her hair was frosted, and her skin was paler than normal due to the lack of temperature. She looked peaceful, as if she was sleeping.

And it would almost look like that, if not for the massive gunshot wound in her chest. Right in between the breasts. The vault suit and ice had sort of covered over it, leaving it as little more than a dark red stain. Piper wondered what kind of weapon could cause such damage.

And then she saw the gun strapped to Blue's chest. _That_ gun. The one that he almost never used. And in that moment, Piper realized why Blue kept such a weapon so close to his chest as if he'd promised it would never be fired again.

"Hi Nora." Blue's voice was soft. "It's…it's time to go home, honey. You've been here long enough." A tear ran down his cheek. "Shaun's all grown up, honey. I found him. He's safe. They can't hurt him anymore. I found him, just like I promised." He sniffled slightly.

"Nathanael…"

Piper realized that it was Elder Maxson speaking.

"Nathanael, it's alright." Arthur said. "Take all the time you need. We can wait outside for you."

"No." Blue said. "I can't keep her here anymore. It's time for her to come home." He turned to look at them. "Will you help me?"

"Of course." Maxson and Piper both said at the same time.

Blue nodded, and turned to look back at his wife.

"Nora, baby. It's time to go home."

And then he cried.

Piper would never forget the sound.

…

Rat was annoyed. He was usually annoyed whenever he hadn't shot up recently, but this was particularly bad. The shit he'd bought was weaker than normal, he just could tell. And what sucked was that he couldn't just take more of it; there was enough crap in his system already that he might OD. And he didn't wanna OD out here in the middle of nowhere. He'd rather get back to Goodneighbor, and then see a girl before he drugged out in peace.

What was annoying him even more was the fact that the others seemed to be enjoying their high more than him. He looked over at the head next to him.

"Why they so fuckin' happy?"

The head belonged to some civvie that they'd gatted on the road a week ago. There were a lot more civvies coming to the Commonwealth these days. Like they thought it was safer. Something about those metal guys and the blue coat people. He didn't buy it. It was dumb. They weren't fucking safe from the raiders like him. And he was about to make a healthy living.

Night was falling as Gunk sat next to him. Gunk had his nose and ears pierced, and had once tried to pierce his own eyeball. Rat wasn't the sharpest, but even he knew that was fucking stupid. So did Trash, who was standing watch out on the outer edge of their camp. He'd walked off to the edge of their sight, right where the fire from the trash pile was at its weakest. Gunk picked his nose, and looked at Rat.

"Meat's bad tonight."

"Course it's bad. You ate the good shit last night." Rat grumbled. "Didn't save none for me."

"Why should I?" Gunk asked. "Legs are the best part. 'Sides, I killed 'er. My kill, my food."

"Then we all starve, shitbrain." Rat said. "Not good." He reached for his bag. "Where's my fuckin' sting?"

"I used it." Gunk said.

"You?" Rat growled. "That's not healthy!"

"Why not?" Gunk asked, picking his teeth. Rat folded his arms.

"Not healthy to share needles. Read it somewhere."

"You can read?"

At that, they all heard a snapping noise. Everyone whirled around and pointed their weapons towards the sound. It came from the riverbed in front of their camp.

"Who's that runnin' through the dark?" Rat barked. "Show yourself or get wasted!"

A figure slowly stood up, holding up its hands. It was too dark to see the figure, but the figure was very big. Maybe it was one of them metal guys?

"Calm yourselves, gentlemen." The figure said. He had a very, very gruff voice. Like he drank nails and ate glass or something like that. "I do not wish to harm you."

"Yeah? Then why you goin' round in the dark like you do?" Gunk asked.

"I tend to move most at night." The voice said. "Most people would be quite fearful of me in the daytime."

"Yeah, well too bad for you." Rat said. "We gonna gat ya all the same."

"That is regrettable." The voice said. "Can we at least talk about this?"

"Sure!" Rat said, looking at his buddies and grinning. "First yeh gotta toss your weapons where we can see them!"

There was a pause.

"My friends, I confess that the weapon I am carrying is very large, and if I throw it there will be a loud noise. Will you promise not to shoot upon hearing this?"

"We think about it!" Rat sneered.

"Very well."

There was a grunt, and they all jumped at the sound of the clatter. It was a massive gun. It looked like one of them guns on the metal people's flying birds. That guy must be big and strong-like. Rat was starting to wonder if maybe they shouldn't bother him.

"Okay, you got your gun in front of us. Give us the other one!" One of the other raiders, a stupid man named Glick, said.

"I have no other weapons!" The voice protested.

"Then shit one out quick!" Glick said.

There was a groan of annoyance. And then a large pistol was tossed up in front of the raiders.

"There." The voice said. "Now I hope you believe me that the only gun I have now is when I make my fingers point and start going 'bang, bang.' Now can we please talk about this like civilized gentlemen? I am looking for Diam-"

"Yeah, we listened." Gunk said. "Now we gonna shoot ya. Sorry big man!"

"Any last words?" Rat asked. But there was a troubling feeling in his gut, and he wasn't sure what it was.

There was a pause.

"I only say that I kept my word." The voice said. "I did not harm any of you."

"Yeah? So?" Rat asked.

That was when they heard something. It was…they weren't sure what, but they heard it from behind them. They all whirled around, and saw that Trash was gone. If they thought about it…they thought that they'd heard a muffled scream.

"Yo, Trash! Blow this loser!"

No answer.

"C'mon, Trash." Rat said. "Don't be no tweaker. Just gat him!"

Silence.

Now there was a hush over the group.

"…Trash?" Rat asked.

"Oh dear."

They all turned back around to look at the big figure in the dark, who'd clearly spoken.

"It would appear you all took too long to decide."

"What are you talking-YEEEEEEEEK-gu."

Glick had literally disappeared in front of their eyes, dragged away into the darkness screaming. Gunk and Rat screamed, and opened fire into the dark. They got nothing. And then there was a blinding pain in Rat's chest, and he fell to the ground. Through fading vision, he saw Gunk's head explode into fragments.

And then there was silence. Rat tried not to acknowledge the hellish pain in his chest. He looked at his chest, and tried not to faint. There was a hilt of a big knife in his chest staring back at him. He crawled on his back to a darker spot in the camp, and tried to hold his breath.

"I must say, you took long enough." The voice grumbled. It stepped out of the shadows, and Rat tried not to scream. It was a super mutant, and it was carrying a massive minigun. It took a burlap sack, and started to gather up any supplies that were in the camp. "If things had taken any longer I think that they would have shot at me."

There was no response, so the super mutant was clearly talking to himself.

"Seriously, friend. I was about to get out of them the location of Diamond City. Isn't that where we want to begin our investigation?"

No response.

"Alright, friend. I suppose you're in one of those faraway places in your head right now but eventually you're going to have to acknowledge me."

At this, there were footsteps. Rat looked up through bleary eyes and saw the demon.

Her hair was gnarled and went down to her hips. It was dreadlocked and matted with dirt and grime and other pieces of the wasteland. She was dressed in a longcoat and it was coming apart in some places and patched in other places. There was a red scarf around her mouth and neck, with the tail tangled in her hair. She stood in the center of the camp, staring at the super mutant.

The pain was unbearable. Rat let out a cough.

The woman turned around. She was wearing goggles and she'd smeared dark grease around her eyes. The scarf covered her mouth. She saw Rat struggling on the ground, and took off her goggles. Her eyes were a steely blue.

"One still alive?" The mutant asked.

She didn't respond. She kept staring at Rat. She let her jacket flow a little bit in the wind, and Rat saw a massive pistol on her hip. Her eyes were passive, and she was staring at the knife in his chest. Rat coughed, the blood trickling out of his mouth, and spoke in barely a whisper.

"Please…please…"

She stepped towards him, and was standing over him.

"Please…help…me…" Rat whispered.

The woman lowered her scarf so that he could get a decent look at her face. She looked both feral and beautiful at the same time. She stared at him silently with those cool blue eyes. And then she spoke in a low growl.

"I can do nothing for you, son."

BANG.

A/N: And we return with the sequel to Détente! Hope you enjoy _Zugzwang_ , and everything that comes with it. This is gonna be a helluva ride, I promise.

See you next time.


	2. Moving Pieces

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"EXTRA! EXTRA! Diamond City's New Mayor Enacting Sweeping Reforms! Record approval rating!"

Nick Valentine chuckled as he listened to Nat Wright standing on her soapbox, screaming the day's headlines. There was a sizeable line forming in front of her, so popular was the _Publick Occurrences_ these days. Nick remembered when it was just a passion project between two sisters, as well as a way to scrape by paying their rent in Diamond City. Now the paper was flourishing, and Piper was sincerely considering hiring another reporter. Truthfully, Nick thought that it was about time: the poor girl was running herself ragged trying to cover the litany of stories both in Diamond City and in the Commonwealth, and then fact that she kept hanging out with the General and at the Castle only made things tougher for her.

Nick had never been one for writing: his investigative skills were more confined to digging up dirt, and he left it to Ellie to turn his chickenscratch into legible notes for cases, whether they were ice-cold or hotter than a just-fired pistol. But whenever he read one of Piper's stories, especially one of the good ones (and there were plenty of those), he wondered whether he might have picked the wrong career. But then he quickly quashed those thoughts: part of being a reporter was being appealing to the sucker-that is, interviewee. Piper was an appealing character. Old Nick would probably send half of his sources running away and screaming at the sight of his necrotic flesh.

"'Scuse me, Mr. Valentine? I think you got a meeting with the mayor, don't you?"

Nick nodded to the city guard that had informed him of this matter, and sighed. He folded his copy of the _Publick_ , and starting watching towards the lift. He couldn't be a reporter. Not with the litany of assignments that he'd picked up in the past few months. One of which was this job.

As he stepped off the lift leading himself into the mayor's office, he was struck with just how much activity there was. There were staffers running back and forth down the hallways of what had once been the luxury boxes of an old baseball field, carrying stacks of paper and other important bits of information. Nick was old enough to remember the original Nick Valentine's memory of being up here when "Diamond City" was still "Fenway Park." He'd won a police raffle to meet the owners of the team, and tour the upper boxes. At least they weren't collecting dust anymore.

Back before he'd been outed as a Synth collaborator, Mayor McDonough had gutted his staff, and seemed pretty content to simply sit on his synthetic keister and do next to nothing. At the time, he'd defended it as a cost-effective measure to balancing Diamond City's budget. But Nick had snooped around, and saw that every month the city was bringing a healthy revenue from traders and rent. At the time, Nick had brushed it off as typical political grift and kickbacks: he'd kept his mouth shut and hoped he'd be able to use that info whenever he could. But as McDonough tightened his grip on the city, it was clear that Nick wouldn't have any friends if he went public. So he'd been forced to keep things quiet.

The revelation that McDonough was actually a Synth was troubling, because in a new way it all made sense: McDonough gutted his staff intentionally, because he wanted Diamond City to be weaker when the Institute came up from the ground and attacked the surface. This might be the only time that he'd ever think it, but Nick thanked god for the bomb that had shredded the place.

He stepped in front of the secretary's desk, and gently cleared his throat. Geneva looked up from her terminal and smiled slightly at the sight.

"Geneva, doll. I think that I have an appointment with Mayor McCheese?" He asked, smirking at his own inside joke. Sometimes it was nice to have the memories of a long-dead man in his systems: it made it easier to slip things past people, and it let the General communicate with someone that got half of his references (but not all of them.)

Geneva just rolled her eyes.

"Oh god, Nick, if you're referring to his sense of humor it's been _unbearable_. I've lost count of the times I've heard someone groan in his office."

"The kid's got a bubbly personality, what can I say?" Nick asked. "And most importantly, it's honest. You can tell that he actually believes in his words. And believes in what he's doing. Better than the last one, right?"

Geneva shuddered, and then she smiled. Warmly.

"Yeah. I guess he is." She pressed a button on her desk, activating the intercom. "Mayor Pitt, Nick is here to see you."

" _Send him in!_ "

Nick doffed his cap to Geneva, and walked inside the office.

…

He shouldn't have been surprised to see that it was practically a mess. Piles of paper all over the place, on tables and chairs and organized in cardboard boxes with sharpie marker denoting the contents. **Budget reports** read one. **Finances** read another. **Policy proposals** read another. It was a cornucopia of public policy.

And the whiz kid was right in the center of it all.

Nick had liked Willie Pitt almost immediately from the first day they'd met. He was part of the first wave of "immigrants" that migrated into the Commonwealth in the aftermath of the Commonwealth Accords, when the Brotherhood and the Minutemen were able to start making the highways in and out of the Commonwealth a little safer for outside travel. Plus, the increased strength of radio towers in the area meant that the settler beacon messages could carry a farther distance around the eastern seaboard of the old United States. For the first time that Nick could remember, Diamond City wasn't shrinking or just maintaining. It was growing.

Willie Pitt had gotten a job bartending at the Dugout Inn for about a month, and it didn't take long before he'd charmed just about everyone that came in and out of the place. When the decision was made that Diamond City was going to hold mayoral elections (which was a point of contention among the power players in the Commonwealth: The General had advocated a free election almost immediately after the signing of the Accords, while Elder Maxson had insisted on a military government until things settled. Eventually, Maxson ceded, though he insisted that a Brotherhood peacekeeping force be left in the city.), Willie had decided to throw his hat in the race. That was about two months ago, after that business with the Mechanist.

Willie got elected in a landslide.

He scratched his chin, running his fingers through the pathetic peach fuzz he insisted was a "beard-in-training," and smiled broadly at the sight of the Synth Detective in front of him.

"Nicky, good to see you!"

Nick smiled, and shook the mayor's hand.

"Likewise, kiddo."

Part of what made Willie Pitt so surprising was the fact that he was only barely legal to drink…if there were still legal drinking age laws in the Commonwealth. He'd celebrated his 23rd birthday in the mayor's office, and now he was directing policy for the biggest hub in the Commonwealth. If he was overwhelmed, he sure didn't show it.

"How's it hanging, chief?" Nick asked. Willie chuckled.

"Well, it goes." He said. "I've got a budget meeting in twenty minutes, got to go make nice with Ann Codman and the rest of the Upper Stands ilk for dinner tonight, the Brotherhood's resident officer is asking me for security concerns because he and his men are dying of boredom, and Kessler wants to re-negotiate the trade deal we've got with Bunker Hill." He shrugged, and chuckled. "So, you know. Nothing too serious."

"You actually have to make nice with that old bag?" Nick asked.

"As a matter of personal opinion I'd rather tickle a Deathclaw than so much as breathe the same air as Codman." Willie said. "But she has clout with the Upper Stands families, and if I can at least get to think that I actually give a rat's ass about her and her needs then maybe she'll stop paying attention as I work on bridging the divides that my predecessor worked so damned hard to build during his tenure."

"'Tickle a Deathclaw?'" Nick asked, trying not to smile.

"I'd have another joke for that situation, but I'm afraid that they don't have the same kind of teeth." Willie said. He chuckled to himself while Nick groaned at the terrible pun, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. Nick couldn't believe that Willie could even get the time of day from some of those snooty pricks: he was always wearing baggy clothes that hung off his shoulders and his hair was constantly disheveled. But then again, he was better than McDonough. Not that that was saying much, mind you, but the kid had a knack for making people like him. That was useful in his position.

"You mind?" Willie asked, lighting his cigarette. Nick shook his head, and drew one of his own. The kid did smoke like a chimney, though. That couldn't be that healthy.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Mayor?"

"Call me Mr. Mayor one more time and I'll actually kick you out of Diamond City, right off the Wall." Willie said. "And I did want to see you. Just wanted to get whatever you've got these days."

"You know that a private eye doesn't divulge his sources."

"Not _that_ stuff." Willie said. "I've got too many people blowing smoke up my ass these days, I need someone who can actually tell me when I'm full of shit." He took a seat in the mayor's chair, and kicked his feet up on the desk. "What's the word on the street?"

"Well, the decision to actually create a civil engineering department makes Shang's job a lot easier in managing the water supply." Nick began. "A lot of people are starting to think that they might take a whack at reinforcing The Wall at some point this year."

"Damn right they will." Willie said. "What else?"

"A lot more travellers coming in and out of the city, and buying a lot of stuff. Arturo's actually worried that he won't be able to keep up with the demand."

"Doesn't surprise me." Willie said. "The Brotherhood's deadline for non-ballistic weapons registry is coming up and everyone is trying to buy as many guns as they can so they can grandfather them in and not have to pay the duty. Nothing I can do to stop that. Anything else?"

Nick cleared his throat.

"Well, the _Publick_ just came out with a new edition. Says you're polling in at around 80 to 90% favorability. Imagine that: spending money on public works and re-employing people and welcoming more settlers does wonders for a mayor's reputation."

"And I'm betting Ann Codman and her friends were the only dissenters." Willie said with a grin. "I told the city that I was running on a campaign of making Diamond City live up to its name and flourish, and by god I'm gonna do it." He narrowed his eyes. "What about the big one?"

Nick sighed.

"Go ahead, close the door." Willie said.

Nick shut the door to the mayor's office, and turned to face Willie Pitt.

"There's an awful lot of tension in the air whenever that comes up." Nick said. "Seems the people aren't too pleased with the fact that the Institute Remnant are gonna be tried in Diamond City."

"Where else would they go?" Willie asked. "Hancock made it pretty clear that Goodneighbor wouldn't be too welcoming, despite his best efforts at keeping things clean. I like Hancock a lot because he's got a good sense of humor, but I don't doubt him when he says that there'd be clamorings for hangings if the trial was in Goodneighbor."

"Some say that your willingness to even give the Institute a trial is sympathy for the devil." Nick said.

Willie sighed, and took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Part of why I came to the Commonwealth is because I believed in the idea that they've been selling: that this is a place and a land where we can rebuild. Might not be able to mimic the good old days, but we can at least do our best to be better than senseless violence." Willie said. "And I know damned well that when the Institute trial begins, I'm gonna take a big hit to my reputation. That's just to be expected. I don't doubt for a second that the anger the Commonwealth feels towards the Institute is deserved. But if we just line them up against a wall and shoot them all, then what does that say about us? I want to build a Commonwealth like your friend."

Nick shrugged.

"I think he'd be embarrassed to be thought of so highly." Nick said.

"Malarkey." Willie said. "He stared down the Elder of the Brotherhood and walked away with a pretty daned good deal for himself and the Commonwealth entirely. That's pretty impressive. And worth living up to. I like the guy. Think I'm about to write my first official letter of invitation to have him come visit."

"You know that he can just come to Diamond City whenever he feels like it, right?" Nick asked, trying not to smile.

"Damn it, Nick, will you stop shitting on the formality of it all?" Willie sputtered, nearly coughing on his cigarette in annoyance. Nick just laughed. But then the conversation got serious.

"How's the preparation been?" Nick asked. Willie sighed.

"Rough."

"Really?" Nick asked. "I can't imagine that people want to sit this one out."

"Oh, it isn't because of that." Willie said. "I've been given so many petitions from citizens who want to serve in the court."

"Well, I don't see how that's so ba-"

"As part of the prosecution." Willie finished. He groaned. "There's no shortage of people that wanna get up in the court and spit fire about how the Institute are babykillers and kidnappers and murderers-"

"Those are all things that they've done, you know."

" _I know_ but there at least needs to be _some_ semblance of impartiality with this case!" Willie said. "Otherwise they'd be better off in the custody of the Brotherhood. And I wouldn't put it past Maxson to just torch the lot." He shook his head. "Besides, there are _kids_ in that group. Surely they can't be responsible for the things the Institute is accused of?"

"Well, we won't know for sure until the General gets Dr. Virgil out of the Glowing Sea."

" _If_ he's still alive." Willie said. "In the meantime, how's your salvage going?"

"Not good." Nick said. "I'm finding scraps here and there, and a few caches of data that survived. But when I say not good, I mean there's a lot of evidence that the Institute is just as bad as we thought. Maybe worse."

"Great." Willie said. "That means we're basically dealing with a sham trial."

"More or less, kiddo."

They let the silence hang in the air.

"Have you considered appointing anyone to the prosecution?" Nick asked.

"A few names, but none are popping yet. I'm gonna schedule interviews with the leading candidates, and see if any of them even understand how a trial should work." Willie said. "But I did have an idea for a defense attorney."

"Really?" Nick asked. "Who've you got in mind?"

Willie showed him the name he'd written down. Nick stared at it.

"That's…an inspired choice, Mr. Mayor."

"I might need you to come with me when I make the offer. Can you do that, Nick?"

"Certainly."

…

"Hold still!"

"I am not sure this is wise, master Shaun."

"Oh, don't be such a fusspot, Codsworth. I know what I'm doing!"

Danse had been strolling through the battlements of the Castle when he heard the two of them talking. Usually, on a pretty afternoon like this, Shaun was running around through the base, while the flustered Curie tried to keep him from getting hurt. The fact that Shaun sounded so positively _gleeful_ about something was a sign of…trouble. Sighing heavily, Danse walked over to the far end of the Castle.

As he suspected, he saw exactly what he didn't want to see.

"Shaun." He said. Shaun didn't even turn around from the console.

"Hey Uncle Danse."

"Shouldn't you be taking your lessons with Curie?"

"Already finished. Her test was _super_ easy." Shaun said. "I'm pretty smart, you know."

"I know." Danse said, trying not to smile. "But I'm not sure you're smart enough to do this."

"Come _on_ Uncle Danse, it's not that hard. It's just basic electrical engineering and some mechanical rewiring and the machines basically do the heavy lifting for me. I'm just programming the console!" Shaun said. "Besides, she said that she'd help me." He jerked a thumb in the direction of his companion…

…Who seemed to positively wilt in the glare of the Minuteman Major.

"Um…hello, sir."

Danse folded his arms across his chest.

"Is this true, Miss Cruz?"

"No! Well…not entirely."

Isabel Cruz. To the outside world, she was the painfully awkward and shy kid that had been brought by the General back from the Mechanist's layer as a victim of the Mechanist's insanity. She'd been forced to work for the Mechanist, creating his robots and causing mayhem across the Commonwealth.

Of course, as Danse had been made privy to later that night (when everyone else was asleep) by the General, it turned out that Isabel Cruz _was_ the Mechanist. When Danse asked the General why he didn't just have her shot or turned over to the authorities, his superior had come back with the annoyingly sensible point.

"She's young and terrified and legitimately wanted to do good for the Commonwealth. She had no idea what she was getting into, and she knows that she's going to have to live with the mistakes she made for the rest of her life. To me, that's punishment enough. And no one knows who the Mechanist was. This gives her a chance to do what she needs to do: atone."

Still, Danse had been skeptical, and finally Blue had agreed on a conditional custody plan: every night, Isabel was to check in with Danse in the Minutemen office, and tell him what she'd been up to. He'd also assign her jobs around the Castle as a way of improving the electrical grid or the defenses free of charge. In return, she got hot meals a bed to sleep on. Eventually, once she'd successfully paid off her debt, then her agreement with Danse was over. But for now, he was her handler.

A fact that she was painfully aware of as he eyed her suspiciously.

"Well, Shaun and I were looking at the robot customization module, and Shaun asked me if it was possible to customize Mr. Handy robots. I told him it wasn't _im_ possible…"

"And now we're here to get Codsworth a brand new pair of legs!" Shaun said.

"I must admit, I have always wondered what it would feel like to have solid footing on the ground…" Codsworth admitted.

"Don't encourage them." Danse said sternly. "You two know that the customization module isn't a plaything. If you're not careful, you or someone else could seriously get hurt in the midst of a harebrained scheme. It doesn't matter if the two of you are smarter than everyone else in the Castle. You haveto consider safety first."

Both Shaun and Isabel hung their heads in shame. Danse reached into his pocket for his pipe, and lit it. After a few puffs, he looked at the kids in front of him.

"Besides, you can't weld Assaultron legs onto a Mr. Handy. That would make him top-heavy and he'd fall over."

Both Shaun and Isabel stared at him in shock, and then glee as they realized that they'd been given an implicit approval to continue…with Danse's supervision. Both of them giggling, they started punching commands into the console as the machine's arms began to go to work.

"Well, well. I wouldn't think a fusspot would okay this sort of delinquency."

Danse resisted the urge to roll his eyes as a familiar arm rested itself on his shoulder. Cait was nursing a bottle of what was probably whiskey in one hand, and leaning against Danse. The fact that Danse never really wore armor anymore meant that she was able to get away with that.

"Customization is acceptable, if there is proper supervision." Danse said. Cait giggled.

"And are you sayin' that you're the man for the job, fusspot?" She asked with a wink.

"Considering the General is still in Sanctuary and Colonel Shaw is drilling recruits and Preston is currently on a diplomatic mission to Goodneighbor, I'd say yes. I am the man in charge, here."

"Ooooh, aren't you a toughie." Cait said, downing a massive gulp of the drink. "And I see you're still smoking that pipe, aren't ya?"

"…I may have developed a preference for it. It…calms my nerves."

"Aw, you like it 'cuz I got it for you! I knew you were getting soft, fusspot."

Danse tried not to smile.

"Don't push it, Cait."

…

It was nightfall. The stars were covered by a sheen of cloud cover, which meant it was positively tar-black out right now. Preston Garvey felt a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead, but resisted the urge to wipe it off. It was a little bit hot and muggy that night, and they were all suffering. But their minute suffering was nothing compared to whatever it was that was going on in that warehouse ahead of them.

The intelligence had been sound. After a tip from Hancock's burgeoning spy network, the Minutemen had heard reports that there was a sex trafficking shipment coming into the Commonwealth, and there were some very unsavory types looking to establish the business in the Commonwealth. Hancock had privately approached the General with a conundrum: on one hand, prostitution in Goodneighbor was legal. However, that was a regulated business where there were rules, regulations, and most importantly consensual. There were punishments for being rough with the men and women, and Hancock might not _officially_ be able to condone punishments (now that his position as mayor was "official" in the eyes of the Brotherhood), he could subtly let some of the guards off-duty know where the assholes were so the civilians could mete out some vigilante justice.

Prostitution was legal in Goodneighbor. But trafficking? That shit didn't fly anywhere that Hancock could sniff it. So he'd asked the Minutemen to look into the warehouse, and rescue any and all sex workers that might be trapped in there. When a woman had staggered into Hancock's office, gravely injured but lucid enough to confirm that she was an escaped sex slave, that was all the justification that the General needed to sign off on this secret mission. If anyone asked, the official line was that Preston was in Goodneighbor on a diplomatic mission.

The reality was something a little bit more nuanced.

There was a shuffling. One of the men crawled up next to Preston in the brush. They were lying on a hillside, camoflagued by the underbrush and shrubbery.

"Orders, sir?" The man whispered.

"We wait another few minutes." Preston said. "As soon as the clouds cover the moon, we make an approach to the building. From there, it's radio silence until you hear the glass shatter. Then we go in and rescue any and all victims in there, and we're out before sunrise."

The group of men and women huddled on the hillside were Preston's pride and joy. They were an experimental group of Minutemen, the kind that accepted a fulltime salary and position in the force, and only conducted the most dangerous of missions. They were drilled by Ronnie Shaw, trained in long-range and scouting by MacCready, and drilled in hand-to-hand combat by Major Danse. And upon graduation, they were each given a distinctive slouch hat, with the brim pinned on one side.

They were the Rangers. And they were the best that the Minutemen had to offer.

"Wait for my go." Preston said. "And nobody says a word." He looked at the moon. The cloud was about to cover it. Any second now-

"Sir!"

It was a harsh whisper, but it was enough to jar Preston. Annoyed, he turned to look over at the man who spoke, breaking the ordered silence.

"What is it, Santiago?" He hissed.

"Contact. Coming this way." Santiago whispered, peering through his sniper scope. Immediately, the others aimed their rifles towards the sniper's directions. But then Preston's eyes adjusted in the gloaming.

"Stand down." He whispered.

It was a women. She wasn't dressed like she was supposed to be walking through the wasteland. She was in a pale white nightgown, and her feet were dirty and bare. She was thin and had pale white skin. Her hair was long and down to her hips. But two things were really off about her appearance.

She was blindfolded.

And her lower body was spattered with blood.

Slowly, Preston signaled for the others to hold position. Slowly, he made his way down the hillside, taking great care not to make any sudden movements. As he made his way closer and closer to the girl, he stepped on a twig.

As it snapped, the girl flinched in fear.

"It's okay." Preston whispered. "I'm with the Minutemen. I'm not going to hurt you."

Shakily, the woman tried and failed to get the blindfold off her head. Only when Preston took her hand was she able to do the job. When she opened her eyes and saw that Preston was who he said he was, she sobbed and threw her arms around his shoulders, crying into his shoulder. Awkwardly, Preston patted her back.

"There, there." He said. "Are you one of the girls?"

"Yes…" The woman whispered.

"We found your friend. Tasha, right?" Preston said. "She's safe in Goodneighbor, waiting for you. How did you get out?" He asked.

"I…walked." The woman said.

"What's your name?"

"Sapphire."

"No, no." Preston said. "Your _name._ "

A pause.

"…Stephanie." The woman said. She paused, took a deep breath, and spoke again. "I walked out. We're all okay."

"All the slaves?" Preston asked.

"Yes."

"Weren't there people guarding you?"

"…Yes."

"Where are they now?"

Stephanie started shaking, and once again buried her head into Preston's shoulders.

"My friends are safe, but I can't go back." She said.

"Why not?" Preston asked gently.

Stephanie looked him in the eyes.

"…It's scary."

"I'll go with you." Preston offered. "You don't have to be alone. I'll even bring two of my men behind me as backup. You think that would be okay?"

Stephanie just nodded.

They made their way to the warehouse in front of them. It was a dilapidated old building, on the outskirts of Goodneighbor and absolutely abandoned from whatever purpose it had originally held. Maybe a shelter. Or a garage. Something like that. Preston noticed that there was blood on the ground leading to the building. Maybe it was from Stephanie's feet. He wasn't sure, but he knew that it wasn't her own blood. She wouldn't say.

When they got to the door, she started shaking violently. Preston shushed her, gently squeezing her hands. She responded by giving him such a tight bearhug that he started to have trouble breathing.

"It's okay, Stephanie." Preston said. "You're safe. It's going to be alright."

And he opened the door.

…

Preston Garvey stared at the inside of the warehouse. His mind went blank. One of the Rangers walked up behind him. Biggins was his name. He was tough and once didn't even blink when an artillery shot was fired right next to his face. He was the sturdiest of the Rangers.

He took one look at what was inside and threw up.

Next to Preston, the other Ranger stared at the interior of the warehouse. She found her voice.

"Oh my holy mother of _god_."

"Ramirez?" Preston whispered, his face expressionless but his eyes wide in a silent horror. "I want you to get on the radio. Use the emergency transmission, specifically to the General's radio frequency." He closed his eyes. It didn't take away the vision in front of him. "He…he needs to see this."

A/N: …Cliffhanger.

And after not nearly enough Nick Valentine in my first story, here I give him some more time and development, as well as introduce another character that I sort of came up with as I was gestating this story. Hope you guys like the idea of there being a new mayor in town, as well as one as young as him. Don't think that's possible? Go ahead and google his name. I'll wait.

And we'll see whatever it is that Preston and the others have seen…next time. Fair warning: it won't be pretty.


	3. Doing A Samaritan's Work

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

The Vertibird arrived early the next morning, just as the sun was starting to rise. The girls were all huddled in the middle of a protective ring of Rangers, each of them huddled in blankets and any spare clothing that the Rangers could spare. One of the Rangers, Reilly, was trying to talk to some of them. Most of them were practically catatonic, staring blankly or about to cry. Preston shook his head. He'd never seen anything like it.

The General stepped off the Vertibird, flanked by a Brotherhood Knight and Elder Maxson. Preston turned to face them.

"Thank you for coming out here, General." Preston said. "I know that you'd have preferred hearing about this mission _after_ its completion, but…I didn't think that this could wait."

"Who are they?" Elder Maxson asked, pointing to the Rangers.

"The Ranger Division, Elder Maxson." Blue said. "They're the best soldiers that we have."

"You have an elite group of Minutemen?" Maxson asked, somewhat accusatorily. Blue just raised an eyebrow.

"And you have the higher level Brotherhood soldiers, and I am sure that you have black ops teams as well. What's the big deal?"

"That's…a fair point." Maxson conceded. He looked at the women. "Are they alright? Are any of them injured?"

"No, sir." Preston said.

"But I see there's a lot of blood on at least one of them, and the others seem to have blood spatter on them as well." Maxson pointed out.

"That's not their blood." Preston said.

A chill ran down both Elder Maxson and Blue's spines, though neither said anything.

"What was the situation that made you make the call?" Blue asked.

"We had hard intelligence that a shipment of 'comfort girls', most likely brought up from Bawlmer, were in this warehouse, before they were to be slipped in to Goodneighbor to serve as call girls. I imagine that the raiders weren't thinking too clearly because, while prostitution is legal in Goodneighbor, Mayor Hancock heavily regulates the industry and pretty much knows the name of every person that's working in the business."

"Probably slept with them all, too." Maxson muttered to himself, though he looked away and put on his best innocent face when Blue gave him a stern look. Preston kept going.

"So when one of the girls escaped and staggered into Goodneighbor by sheer luck, Hancock called us and we were going to rescue the girls and take care of the slavers."

"So why call me?" Blue asked. Preston gestured for them to follow him, and then opened the door.

"Because someone beat us to it."

…

The first thing that Blue noticed was the smell. It was overpowering. The stench of decay and death was heavy in this building, to the point where he dry heaved a little bit. Elder Maxson coughed violently. The Brotherhood Knight just took off his helmet and threw up.

Then Blue saw the bodies.

They were all thrown together in a pile in the center of the room. There were trails of blood leading from all different parts of the building and from up the stairs, which meant that they'd been moved together away from where they'd originally been killed. And they were all dead. Gunshot wounds to the head, various stabbings, and some of them looked like they had literally been beaten to death. It was a cornucopia of violence.

Blue took it in for a moment, and then he cleared his throat.

"They're all slavers?"

"From what we could tell." Preston said. "The girls aren't saying much, but they made it clear that the men in here were all their captors."

Blue took a moment to study some of the bodies. He noted one of them: the face was nearly unrecognizable from trauma, but there was also a bullet hole in the chest. And signs of bullet damage in the knees. On a hunch, he scanned the legs of the other victims. They all had similarly debilitating injuries.

"What do you see?" Elder Maxson asked.

"They were all crippled." Blue said. "Whoever did this…they wanted these guys to suffer. And there's no rhyme or reason to the killings: it's like whoever did this did so with whatever was available. And then when they were done…they dispatched them."

"…Nathanael."

Blue looked over to Elder Maxson, who was staring at the far wall of the room. His jaw was slightly agape, and his eyes were wide in horror. They followed his look.

One of the slavers was up against the wall. His eyes were glazed and blank, his mouth open in a silent scream. His hands were spread eagle. His feet were together. He was upside down, and there were leaking streams of blood coming from his hands and feet. There was a massive reddish patch in the genital region, what was left of it, and the man looked pale and gaunt.

They stared at this horror show for a few minutes.

"I'm…I'm guessing that that's their leader." Preston mumbled.

"What…what unspeakable abomination _is_ that?" Elder Maxson asked.

"Crucifixion."

They turned to look at Blue. He was staring at the csene in front of him, a grim look on his face.

"In the Christian Bible, Jesus of Nazareth was denounced as a heretic by the Roman leadership and was crucified as punishment for his attempts at subverting the Roman social order." Blue began. "He was put upon a wooden cross, and then nails were driven into his hands and feet. Without being able to rest yourself on either your hands or feet due to excruciating pain…you eventually either die of asphyxiation or exhaustion and exposure. It's…a terrible way to go."

"But…why is this man upside down?" Elder Maxson asked. Blue sighed.

"It's the death of Saint Peter."

"Who was Saint Peter?" Preston asked.

"Ask Pastor Clement for the specifics, but the biggest thing was that he was Jesus of Nazareth's closest follower. And one day, the Romans decided that they didn't like him either, and so dragged him off to be crucified. As the stories go, he asked to be crucified upside down, because he believed that he was unworthy to die in the same manner as his Lord."

"Are you suggesting that this slave captain was a pious and holy man?" Elder Maxson asked, somewhat contemptuously. Blue shook his head.

"No, it's just pointing out the fact that crucifixion is a twisted enough way to kill someone. But to invert them?...This was a murder of righteous fury and rage. As if this man didn't even deserve the dignity of dying in a symbolic manner." Blue said. "Think about it. Some could argue, in a twisted way, that there is something poignant about a crucifixion. But an inverted crucifixion? There's nothing that can be gleaned from it. It's just a horrible way to be killed. Brutal. Undignified. And vengeful."

"So I guess we're dealing with people that really fucking hate slavers." Preston said.s

And then they heard the cough.

They whirled around to see that one of the bodies was stirring. The man was clearly dying. He was covered in blood, both his and the others, and he was weakly stirring, trying to pull some of the others off of him. His eyes were both pretty much swollen shut, and there were signs of stabbings and gunshots all over him.

The others wanted to put him out of his misery, but Blue stayed their hands. He walked over, and knelt next to the man. It might be a raider and a slaver, sure, but this was a human being. He wasn't about to kick the dying man while he was down.

Not while there was still some information to be had.

"Can you hear me?" Blue asked.

"Mmm…..mmmhhhmm…" The raider moaned. Blue shushed him quietly.

"It's okay. It'll be over soon. You won't be suffering for long. Can I ask you something?"

The man slowly nodded.

"Who did this to you? Who are they?"

At this, the man's eyes suddenly shot open. It was a startling sight. He reached up and grabbed Blue's collar with what little strength he had left.

"Not…them… _her…_ …It was… _one woman!_ "

The man's hand went limp, and he expired.

Blue stood back up. He turned and looked at the others.

"What did he say?" Preston asked.

"He said that this was the work of one person."

"One person?" Maxson asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I asked him who they were and he corrected me. Said it was one woman."

At this, Elder Maxson seemed to go rigid in the subtlest way. Blue narrowed his eyes when he saw the brief look of panic on the Elder's eyes.

"Are you okay, Elder Maxson?"

"What? Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Elder Maxson said.

"Sounds like you got a scare when I said it was a woman."

"It's…a surprising thought." Maxson admitted. "I'm more used to men being the more violent and brutish of the species."

"Is that all?" Blue asked.

"Yes. Yes it is." Elder Maxson said. He turned around. "We should take care of the women outside. I imagine they're getting cold and worried without any plans."

He walked out the door.

"You buying that?" Preston asked.

"For now." Blue said. "Right now, we've got to care for the girls, and we need to do a little bit of research. But as far as we know, this is just a regular one-off job by someone who hates slavers. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is not a cuase for concern as it is a cause for celebration." He kicked something with his shoes. He looked down.

Shell casings.

He picked one up.

"This is a big bullet." Blue said.

"I don't recognize it." Preston said.

"Neither do I." Blue said. "But I think I know someone who might." He turned to Preston. "You think you can run a favor for me?"

…

Preston walked through the bustling Diamond City market, ignoring the chatter of civilians as well as the patrols of Brotherhood members and Minutemen riflemen. They were all going about their day, with nary a worry. He imagined that they wouldn't be nearly as carefree if they'd seen what he'd seen. But he was hoping that the man he was about to talk to was made of hardier stuff.

Sure enough, the counter was open as Preston walked up.

"Colonel Garvey. Long time no see, sir." Arturo chuckled. He scratched his mustache a little bit. "How may I be of service? You looking for some more laser musket ammo? I got a shipment that's coming in from Bunker Hill later this afternoon. Stick around and I'll let you have first pick." He smiled. Preston just shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Arturo. I'm not looking to buy. I'm looking for an opinion."

"An opinion?" Arturo asked. He leaned over the desk of his shop. "Well, I can give you my opinion on a lot of things. Don't know if they'll be useful for you though, you know?"

"What if it was about firearms?" Preston asked. At this, Arturo perked up.

"You _do_ realize what I sell firearms and ammunition for a living, right?" He asked with a grin. "C'mon, what do you need?"

Preston reached into his pocket, and set some of the shell casings on the counter. They made a clinking noise on the surface, and Arturo's smile faded as he stared at them. He picked one of the casings up, and turned it in his fingers wordlessly. Preston watched the look on the gun dealer's face, and frowned. Arturo not smiling wasn't a good sign.

"Did you have a mop for whatever sap got hit by one of these things?" Arturo asked.

Preston shuddered. He cleared his throat.

"Do you know what kind of weapon fires these bullets?"

"Yeah." Arturo said. "But I didn't think that I'd ever _see_ one in my lifetime."

"How do you figure?" Preston asked.

"It's not a very common gun. At least these days." Arturo said. "And it's the kind where when you just graze something, you're gonna kill it." He looked at Preston. "What you're looking at here, chief, is an fired shell casing from a Desert Eagle."

"A…Desert Eagle?"

"They were all the rage when Old America was in wars in the desert, hence the name." Arturo said. "They're big and powerful and _loud._ You hit someone with this, and they ain't getting back up."

"Do you sell .50 caliber bullets?" Preston asked.

"No, there's not enough of a market to place in orders for it here in the Commonwealth." Arturo said. "Most guns around here go no bigger than the .44, like that big guy on your General's chest, or .357 magnums. And .50 caliber sniper rifles aren't the same thing as Desert Eagle rounds."

Preston thought about it for a moment. And then he spoke again.

"Arturo, do you think that you could put in an order for a token sum of these…Desert Eagle bullets?" He asked. Arturo grinned.

"You wanna set up a sort of mini sting?" He asked. "Just so long as I don't gotta go undercover or anything like that. My accent is pretty distinct around here…but maybe not as much as Vadim's."

"Just put in an order, and if anyone buys…let us know, would you?" Preston said.

"Will do, boss. The Minutemen are good for business, and I'll pay ya back if you need it."

Preston nodded, and doffed his hat. As he turned around to walk away, he heard Arturo's voice.

"Be careful, chief."

"What do you mean by that, Arturo?" Preston asked. Arturo sighed.

"Someone that goes out of their way to use a Desert Eagle is someone that's either seen some serious shit, or is the baddest son of a bitch in the room. Because those aren't guns for lightweights, or even veterans. They're as much about the psychological effect as they are the actual bullets. Pretty scary to see a bullet just graze your buddy and still see his head explode." He shook his head. "Whoever you're looking for ain't nobody to be fucked with."

Preston nodded gravely, and then walked away.

…

It was nightfall when they made the trek down from the mayor's office. Poor kid had to stay late reading through a couple of policy proposals that the city council had offered up, and if the raging sounds from inside were any indication, it was clear that Mayor Pitt wasn't a big fan of half of them. (Earlier in the afternoon, while Nick was talking to Geneva to brighten up her day, Willie had positively rattled the entire office with an exasperated " _OH FOR_ _ **GOD'S SAKE, ANN**_!" that Nick thought might have shorted out his audio receptors for a moment. The kid had lungs when he was pissed. But whatever Codman had done this time, she probably just deserved it)

But now they were walking through the streets of Diamond City, as the sun had set and the majority of the citizens called it a night. Willie was wearing his long black overcoat, which made him look a little bit like that old Silver Shroud character…minus the domino mask and fedora.

Good thing too. Nick had _hated_ the Silver Shroud, and was beyond annoyed with Blue's tendency to ham it up as the Silver Shroud whenever he felt like annoying the old Synth.

"You sure this is the best choice, kiddo?" Nick asked, their footsteps clacking on the street. "I don't know if legal expertise is this guy's forte."

"It isn't _anyone's_ forte, Nick. We're basically rebuilding the code of law from scratch. The last thing I need is a weak-willed public defender who just rolls over, and I don't want prosecutors that are looking to burn people at the stake. I want honor and fairness. And when it comes to the defense, I think this guy is the best choice."

"Who's your second choice if he balks?" Nick asked.

Mayor Pitt was silent.

They reached the door. Willie Pitt sighed, and then knocked on the door.

It was opened almost immediately.

"Oh, hello Mr. Valentine! And hello, Mr. Mayor! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you around here this evening."

"Hello Edna, darling." Willie said. "Is your husband around?"

"Why, yes. He's upstairs grading essays. Would you like to come in?" Edna asked.

Nick and Mayor Pitt nodded, and stepped inside.

That was one of the reasons that Nick was sold on Willie Pitt for mayor of _everyone_ , and not just a specific subset of the population. Plenty of people would have made a face or balked at the sight of the marriage of Edna and Mr. Zwicky. But not only did it never seem to come up with Pitt, he went out of his way to innocuously flirt with the Miss Handy robot.

They sat down around the coffee table, and waited for Mr. Zwicky to finish his paperwork.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Mayor?" Edna asked. "I was brewing a pot for my husband, and I am sure he will not drink all of it."

"Thank you, Edna." Willie said. "I'd like that."

After a few minutes, Mr. Zwicky came down the stairs. He stared at Nick and the mayor with a degree of confusion.

"Mr. Valentine…Mr. Mayor…to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He took a seat across from them as Edna floated into the room, bringing in cups of tea.

"I read your op-ed in the _Publick_ a few weeks ago." Willie said to Mr. Zwicky. "The one about the Commonwealth Accords and the like."

"You…you did?" Mr. Zwicky asked, somewhat stunned.

"Of course! I read everything that Miss Wright prints. It's good to remind myself that I'm not the only person in this city with opinions." Willie said. "I especially liked your argument about the rule of law, Horatio."

"Which one was that?" Horatio Zwicky asked.

"The one about how, in a civilized society, even the most heinous of people should be given the chance to defend themselves. Even if it ends up being a terrible defense and you're only further convinced of their guilt, at least they got their say." Mayor Pitt said. "It's nice to know that not everyone is gonna descend into fascism around here."

"Well…thank you." Mr. Zwicky said. "But I don't think that you came here just to congratulate me on a well-written op-ed in the _Publick_."

"No, of course not." Willie said. He leaned in, a serious look on his face. "Horatio, I have an offer for you. It wouldn't be easy, and after hearing it you would be free to decline and that would be the end of it. I wouldn't hold it against you, and I can promise that the school will not get slashed funding as a result of your declin-"

"You want me to represent the Institute."

There was a silence. Willie's mouth was slightly agape in surprise, but then he nodded.

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I was coming here to ask you. I was going to appoint you as the special defense council for the contingent known as the Institute Remnant. Your job, should you choose to accept, is to give them their fair day in court."

There was a long pause.

"But aren't the Institute accused of committing terrible crimes?" Edna asked.

"They are, honey." Zwicky said. He looked at the mayor. "You and I both know that this will be a sham of a trial. The evidence against the Institute is massive."

"Don't be so sure." Nick Valentine said.

"Oh please. You're the one digging through the wreckage." Mr. Zwicky said. "I bet the prosecution will call forth you as their star witness, and how am I going to deal with that?"

"Dr. Virgil might be useful." Willie Pitt said.

"But we don't even know if he is alive!" Horatio said. "For all I know, this man doesn't exist!"

"Horatio…" Willie began. "I fully admit that I am putting the weight of the world on your shoulders. And the public will hate the fact that you are even letting these people speak in their defense. But there is no one else in the Commonwealth with your wealth of knowledge, and there is no one with the temperament to play this role to its fullest. You would not sandbag them, it's not in your nature."

"And what if every last one of them gets convicted?"

"Then every last one of them gets convicted." Pitt said. "But the important thing is that the cloud of hearsay and accusation is gone, and no matter what decision the jury makes, they will have done so having heard both sides of the argument."

He paused. And then he cleared his throat.

"And you will be able to tell your students that sometimes being the good man or woman means doing something that the bad men never would: show compassion for your enemy. There's no shame in failing the Good Fight…so long as you fought to begin with."

There was another pause. And then Mr. Zwicky sighed.

"I'll need help." He said. "I can't do this by myself. I'm a teacher, you know. I have other responsibilities."

"We'll get other teachers."

"Not like that." Mr. Zwicky said. "Those are children, and it is their education that you are suggesting we tamper with. A teacher isn't a babysitter, Mr. Mayor. A teacher needs to be patient, command a sense of authority, and at the same time remind every child that they are capable of finding their greatest strength and then excelling at it. I don't want help staffing the school, I do a fine enough job with that and my wife. What I need help with is other people that are willing to get spit on in the street for daring to suggest that we don't immediately burn the Institute Remnant at the stake, and then _throw them off the Wall!_ " The outburst caught them all by surprise. There was a long silence.

"I'm…sorry, Mr. Mayor." Zwicky said. "I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"It's okay." Pitt said. "And you'll get what you want. I'll find others to help you with this case. Even if it's someone with a basic understanding of law and legal procedure." He said with a smile. "But will you take the job?"

Horatio Zwicky thought about it for a moment. And then he glanced over at his wife.

"I will support you no matter what you choose, darling." She said.

He sighed.

"What do I need to know about the case?" He asked.

…

The bar was getting a little bit subdued. Most of the people in the Third Rail were at the stage of their drinking where the most exciting thing going on was a card game or two, as well as when Magnolia took the stage. She was swaying slightly to the beat of the song, her voice crooning a soft and sensual song.

… _it's good to be a good, good, good, good, good, good neeeighborrr…_

She finished the song, and there was a smattering of applause from the patrons at the bar and around the building. Blowing a kiss, Magnolia made her way over to the bar where Whitechapel Charlie was making a concoction of drinks.

"Have a vodka, miss Magnolia. Figured I'd give you one on the house for that last number. You really outdid yourself that time."

"Aww, thanks Charlie darling." Magnolia said, taking a drink. "Think the others liked it?"

"I had to discourage at least three of the more drunken patrons from proposing, if that's what you're asking."

"Only three?" Magnolia smirked. "Guess I'm losing my touch."

"You've been like that ever since you struck out with that tosser who runs the Minutemen."

"Oh Charlie, that's cruel." Magnolia said, placing a hand over her heart in mock indignation. "You know damned well that the General was a gentleman, and I rather enjoyed his company. For once…I didn't need to be a 'good neighbor.'" She said with a little wink.

"Sometimes I wonder why I ever bothered befriending you, you conniving little chanteuse."

"Because you know you love me this way, Charlie." Magnolia said, taking another sip.

There was a slight commotion from just around the corner.

"Yo! No sudden movements!" Ham growled from around the bend. "Keep your hands up."

"My friend, I beg that you let us enter. I will gladly surrender my weapons to you, if it will put your mind at ease."

That voice was rather gravelly, Magnolia thought.

"…Fine. But I'm keeping my eye on you. And any sudden movements…"

"I do not really make sudden movements, friend, so I think that you will be fine."

The owner of the voice rounded the corner, and then everyone was looking.

It was a Super Mutant, who was cautiously holding his hands up. He was dressed in worn clothes, and at least a vested shirt. He was also wearing a knitted (though fraying) skull cap of sorts. He was big and scary, and yet Magnolia could sense there was a kindness radiating off of him. He probably really _did_ just want to come in and enjoy a drink.

It was his companion that sent a shiver down Magnolia's spine.

A woman with long straggly hair, fashioned into dreadlocks. Matted and dirty, with only fair traces of the shiny blonde that it must be when it was clean. She was dressed in leather, with a red scarf around her neck. She had raised her goggles up above her eyes, and had pulled the scarf down so that her lips were visible.

She might look terrifying, but there was also something beautiful about her. Magnolia saw her eyes, though, and just shook her head. There was a lot of pain behind those eyes and that blank stare.

Awkwardly, the regular conversation of the bar began when it was clear that these two just wanted to be patrons of the bar and not start any trouble. The feral-looking woman took a seat right next to Magnolia, and stared directly ahead. She said nothing.

"…You gonna order something, pigpen?" Whitechapel Charlie asked.

He was treated to a glare that could melt his circuitry.

"Erm...right. How about a house special?" Charlie stuttered.

"My friend does like whiskey, if you have any." The Super Mutant said.

"…Right. Sure. Whatever." Charlie said, clearly not used to speaking to a Super Mutant as articulate as this one. He went off to pour out the drink. At this, the Super Mutant turned to Magnolia.

"Excuse me, miss?" He asked. He was stooped over a little bit, and he took off his hat and held it in front of his belt. He was _intimidated_ by her? Well, now Magnolia couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, honey?" She asked. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, nothing for me." The Mutant said. "I actually had a question. Well, two, actually."

"Go ahead, sugar."

"Are you a…singer?" He asked.

"You could say that." Magnolia said. "Though sometimes I like dressing like this just for the sake of it."

"Well, um, of course! I wouldn't, um, begrudge your fashion choices that highlight your figure. I mean, your ability."

Magnolia giggled. For a Super Mutant, he was pretty awkward.

"What's your second question, darling?"

The Super Mutant reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to Magnolia.

"Do you…recognize the lyrics? It's a song that my friend very much likes."

"Oh…I love this song." Magnolia said. She looked over at the feral woman next to her. "You'd like me to play this for you, sweetie?"

No response.

"Don't mind my friend. She's…had a rough go of it, lately." The Super Mutant said. "I heard that there was a singer here, and I thought if you could sing her favorite song…it might help her a little bit."

"Of course, darling." Magnolia said. "Whom do I make it out to?" She looked over at the woman. "What's your name, princess?"

Nothing.

"Just…make it out to my friend." The Super Mutant said.

"Alright…" Magnolia said. "Do you have a name, dear?"

"…Fawkes." The Mutant said. "My name is Fawkes."

"A nice name." Magnolia said. "Well, let me work my magic, then." She looked over at the woman, and winked. No response or acknowledgement.

Magnolia climbed up on the stage, and pressed a button on the floor to shuffle to a song. When she saw the music cued up, she hit play.

A soft and slow guitar beat came in through the speakers. Magnolia closed her eyes, and slowly swayed to the beat. And then she began.

 _I…don't want to set the wooorrrrlld oonnnn fireeeeee_

 _I just want to staaaart a flame in yourrrr heart_

Most of the patrons turned around, distracted from their events to listen. This was a new song to most of them, and for the few that did know it, they were aware that the original singer was a man.

 _In my heart I have but onnnneee deeeeesirreee_

 _And that one is you…no other will dooooooo_

Fawkes gazed back at his friend. The cloudy look in her eyes was disappearing, and soon she closed her eyes. It was a calm, almost relieved look on her face.

 _I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim_

 _I just want to be the one you love_

There was a slight squeaking sound, and Fawkes saw that his friend had quietly swiveled her chair around to watch the song.

 _And with your admission that you feel the same_

 _I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of…_

"BOO!"

It was like a spike to the head. Everyone was taken out of their reverie by the sound of the kid's voice. He and his buddies had clearly filed in to the bar some time ago, and clearly did not like the song.

"That shit's slow and boring! I heard you got good songs! Why not play them?" The leader of the group asked. They all snickered to themselves, and walked over to the bar. "Yo, robobrain! Give us the good shit."

"I don't serve to delinquents." Charlie said sternly.

They were punks in leather jackets and jeans. One of them shook his head.

"Don't you know anything, bot? We're badasses! We're greasers, and we want a fucking drink and to hear some hot songs from that hot lady over there."

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Magnolia had stomped over to them. "But I'm afraid that we're going to have to ask you to leave."

The leader turned around, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yeah? Says who? You?"

"Considering I am an owner of this bar… _yes._ " Magnolia said. The leader flinched, clearly not used to a woman talking back to him. And then he glowered.

"The people come to see you, then?" He asked.

"That's right. Or drink. Just forget about the problems of the world for a bit."

"They like looking at your pretty face?" The leader asked.

"I guess a few do-"

Magnolia was cut off, as the leader grabbed her by the cheek, and drew a switchblade.

"Maybe I'll put my mark on you, baby."

He pressed the knife up against her cheek.

And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 _"You interrupted the song."_

He turned around in time to see a fist flying towards his face.

The punch knocked him unconscious, shattering his nose and fracturing his orbital bone. He'd have fuzzy vision out of that eye for the rest of his life. He was out cold before he'd even hit the floor.

Compared to his friends, he got off easy.

A/N: A lot of moving pieces here and there. I hope that I didn't offend anyone with the iconography of the killed slavers. Ultimately, it boiled down to this: the person that wanted them to die _really_ wanted them to die.

And also this person doesn't like it when you threaten innocent people.

See you next time!


	4. First Contact

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Hancock stood in the center of the bar, looking at the mess in front of him, and just shook his head. _This_ was what he'd been interrupted for? He'd been right about to tap into a really good high, he just knew it, when Farenheit had told him that there was a ruckus over at the Third Rail. On one hand, Hancock didn't pay it any mind. But when he heard that a Super Mutant was involved, that got him interested. Had Strong _really_ wandered off the Castle towards Goodneighbor and then killed someone? That would be funny, but not if it was someone that he liked.

But as he stood in the middle of the place, surveying the sad excuse for gangsters on the floor in front of him, he just shook his head.

"Wanna run it by me again, Charlie?" He asked. The bartender gave a static-laden sigh.

"It's like I told you, you wanker. Couple of gobshites came in here and starting threatening Miss Magnolia, and then they got their hides tanned. Don't see what the fuss is all about."

Hancock just sighed.

"Charlie, there are four punks on the ground here. One of them has a broken nose and maybe even a messed up eye. Another got his fingers and wrist broken on one arm, and on the other it looks like his elbow and wrist both got snapped the wrong direction. The third guy got his nose broken, both of his wrists broken, and then his ankle broken. And the last guy got both his knees snapped, his arm broken in three places, and both his eyes swollen shut. I'm a pretty laid-back guy, but even I have to say: this is a lot more than just 'getting your hide tanned.'"

"This wouldn't be an issue if you let us patrol the area with some more frequency."

Hancock turned to the other man that was standing next to him in a very pristine uniform.

"Ain't gonna happen, Knight. The Brotherhood has to work for their supper here in Goodneighbor, and that means adjusting to the rules of the place. Gotta be a little more hands off, otherwise this ain't a city by the people, for the people anymore."

Knight Rhys narrowed his eyes. He'd been promoted to the head of his own Brotherhood detail in the past few months, and was no longer just a part of the Cambridge Police Station. Now he was running the detail in Goodneighbor. He was dedicated to the mission of the Brotherhood, and was not a fan of ghouls in general. Naturally, Hancock took every opportunity that he could to needle the uptight soldier.

"Your laissez-faire methods are more harmful than good when it comes to policing the population, Mayor." Rhys said, frowning. Hancock chuckled.

"I bet I'd be real offended if I knew what that meant!" He said. "Why don't you go take these yokels over to the jail, and get a Brotherhood doctor on them while you're at it?"

Knight Rhys frowned.

"The Brotherhood is not a corps of errand boys, Mayor."

"Really? Because I was thinking about asking for a cup of coffee at the same time." Hancock said. "Now git."

Knight Rhys shook his head, and left with the other Brotherhood soldiers that had come to help pacify the area. Shaking his head, Hancock walked over to the side of the bar.

"Where's she at, Charlie?" He asked.

"In her dressing room. Doubt she's gonna wanna talk much, though."

Hancock grinned.

"Somehow I doubt that. All the ladies enjoy chatting it up with me. I guess I got a way with words."

"Wanker."

…

She was sitting in front of her mirror, staring into it blankly. There was a bottle of whiskey right by her hand, and he could smell the cigarette before he'd even stepped into the room. Hancock remembered to knock, even though the door was slightly ajar.

"You okay, songbird?" Hancock asked.

"I'll be alright." Magnolia said, still not looking at him. "I've been tossed around a few times in the past. Hasn't happened in a while, but it's happened."

"I'm glad to see that you're okay, Magnolia." Hancock said, taking a seat on the other side of the room on one of those little chairs they always seemed to have in a starlet's waiting room. "I couldn't bear to think of you getting hurt."

"I wonder who hurt her…" Magnolia muttered.

"What's that?" Hancock asked. At this, Magnolia looked over.

"The woman that saved me. I wonder who hurt her."

"What do you mean?" Hancock asked.

"She came in to the Rail and didn't say a word, and didn't even acknowledge me when I tried to make small talk…or flirt, because under all that grime and muck she had…oh, I dunno, a fierce sort of beauty to her."

"'Fierce' beauty, Magnolia?" Hancock chuckled, lighting up his own cigarette. "You testing out song lyrics on me?"

Magnolia frowned slightly.

"I'm serious, Hancock." She said. "She came in with a Super Mutant and somehow the Super Mutant was the more well-adjusted of the two. He stumbled over his words like he was my biggest fan, and then he asked me if I'd play a song for her. Said she liked it a lot."

"What was the tune?"

Magnolia sighed.

" _I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire_ by the Ink Spots."

"Ohh…I like that one." Hancock said. "But that's a pretty sad song."

"And I could just feel the sadness in that woman." Magnolia said. "You know how people are. They might be able to put up a front, but never completely. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were just tortured. I think it's going to bother me for a while, you know? Because I've never seen anything like it." And then she shuddered. "And then the turn…"

"So she's the one that beat up those assholes?" Hancock asked.

"She didn't beat them up, Hancock." Magnolia said. "She…she took them apart. And it was the way she did it that's sticking in my mind…so clinical. So powerful." She shuddered again. "It was just so…results-based and heavy-handed. Heavy-footed. It wasn't fighting. It was carnage." She looked over at Hancock. "Does that make sense?"

Hancock nodded slowly.

"And almost as soon as it started, it was over." Magnolia said. "They're all lying on the ground, moaning in pain, and she storms off and out of the Third Rail. Her friend following behind her." She sighed. "And the funniest thing about it all?" She held up something in her hand. It was a little drawstring pouch. "She tipped us."

Hancock chuckled.

"Like she was apologizing for the mess?" He asked. Magnolia cracked a slight grin, and then Hancock started laughing harder. "Oh, I love it! It sounds like those assholes got beat up by the last person they expected to see: a badass." He chuckled. "I don't think there's anything to worry about, Magnolia. I'll keep a few of my guys in the bar for the next couple of days to make sure that these assholes don't come back, but I think that our mysterious friend saved us the trouble of having to arrest and uproot a wannabe gang. Know where your mystery friend went? I gotta thank her."

"I…I don't know." Magnolia admitted. "They just up and left. Vanished like they weren't even there."

…

"My friend, you could have been a little bit more restrained with your methods."

"…"

"I mean, I understand that you did what needed to be done, but at the same time, was it _necessary_ to cripple those boys the way you did?"

"…"

"…I suppose you had a point. After all, that Magnolia lady was very nice. That was an evil thing to threaten her with harm the way they did. I'm just glad that you did not kill them."

"…They weren't worth it."

…

As the sun began to set, the sky turned orange while the sun turned a bloody red in the sky. The island was the best choice for this to happen. In fact, most considered it to be the _only_ place where this should happen.

They'd all gathered an hour or so ago, with the Vertibirds protectively lining the shoreline of Spectacle Island. Once upon a time, this plot of land had been the property of an eccentric millionaire, who had hoped to use it as a new property. Today it was the sight of something else entirely.

A funeral.

They'd brought every chair that they could, and those that didn't have one gladly stood. Those that wore all black did so. Those that were not as fortunate simply wore something of the color as an expression of solidarity. Maybe once upon a time, there might have been microphones or a way to amplify speech to those that would listen. So instead, they all stood in a circle around the many graves that had been dug, and watched as the speakers stood in the center and gave their peace. There was a single white casket in the center, painted a perfect color, where the body of the one whose death had made this entire event a necessity was placed, at the top of the hill that overlooked the island and the graves below.

Pastor Clement, who had come with a delegation from Diamond City, gave a speech about the power of God's peace, and of the eternal rest that each and every one of the Vault 111 victims were now finally granted, allowed to return to the earth from which they were created. His words brought a wave of calm over the crowd.

The crowd grew silent as Elder Maxson walked in the center of all of the graves, and he folded his arms behind his back in silent thought. It was so quiet that the only noises to be heard were the waves gently lapping against the shore of Spectacle Island. He cleared his throat, and he began.

"They had families." He said. "They had loved ones. They had friends. They had hopes and they had dreams. And they all had one thing in common: they wished to live their daily lives. In the end, what is a more human thing to ask, than to wish for the peace of a quiet life? It is why the Brotherhood fight. It is why the Minutemen gather their weapons at a moment's notice, and it is why the people of the Commonwealth do not roll over: at the end of the day, the quest for a peaceful life is the quest that all living things journey through."

He paused.

"The people we mourn today were denied that very right. That very opportunity. They were denied that opportunity because of the hubris of their times, as Man's ego and desire to go beyond His means created a world on a powderkeg. It was only a matter of time before that powderkeg exploded…and today we sit in the ashes of what is left." He paused again. "Who lit the world on fire? It was not the common man. It was not any of these innocent souls. It was the work of men and women who did not stop to think about whether they should just because they could. It was the work of men and women who fought war for profit and personal interests, using the little people as pawns. And it was fought in the mad dash for nuclear superiority. There is no such thing, and these people all paid the price."

He closed his eyes.

"As we gather here today, let us remember how far we have come from that horrible day to now. We can rebuild this world. It is not hopeless. But we can never again do what our ancestors did before us. We cannot recklessly chase the scientific dreams of whimsical curiosity without realizing their costs. We cannot press for 'progress' without thinking about where that road will take us. We must open our eyes to what we are capable of, and remember what happens when we walk the path of progress blindfolded: we ignore all of the best things, and only engage in the worst. And in the end, we pay for our mistakes with the lives of innocents like the ones we gather to remember today. Remember why they died, and strive to build a world they would have enjoyed. That they would have been proud of."

He nodded once, and then rejoined the rank and file.

It seemed like an eternity before Blue walked in front of the crowd to give his speech. He was in his finest uniform, and he stared at the graves around him. And then he looked up to the hill where the casket rested. He opened his mouth, and then closed it in silence. Finally, he lowered his head. When he spoke, it was hard to hear that he had said anything at all. And yet they all heard it all the same.

"Goodbye, Nora. I'll make a better world for you, I promise."

He walked up to the casket at the hill, and laid something on top of it. And then he rejoined the crowd, who slowly began paying their respects by placing trinkets and other tributes of respect. Major Danse stood on the far edge of the crowd. He'd chosen to wear a pair of dark sunglasses, and made a point of blending in the crowd. He wasn't sure if Elder Maxson was aware of how closely involved he was in the maintenance of the Minutemen, and he didn't want to cause a scene by being up front and center. The other Minutemen standing around him did the best possible job of keeping him protected, and by the grace of some sort of divine will, not one of the Brotherhood delegates to the mass funeral seemed to notice him.

Danse had watched the funeral, and he had listened to all of the speeches that were given. He wasn't sure that he believed in what Pastor Clements spoke of: while it was a good speech, he was skeptical that the Kingdom of God allowed Synths within its pearly gates. And while Elder Maxson's speech had certainly been passionate, and he knew that the young man was sincere, it almost seemed like a hype-up speech for the vigilance that the Brotherhood of Steel had always preached even back when he was still a member of the rank and file.

But the General's words had hit him the hardest. And it made him feel a deep and powerful sadness, as he wondered what this Nora had been like, and how her death had so greatly hurt the heart of the man he was honored to call a friend.

Danse mourned the loss of this innocent soul, and mourned the pain that drove his friend to grief.

And yet as the tear rolled down his chek, Danse also felt a great relief washing over him: he could actually _feel_ this intangible pain, even after the revelation of what he truly was.

He may be a synthetic creation. But he was truly beginning to realize that that did not make him any less of a man.

…

It was nightfall by the time everyone had left Spectacle Island. There was a small contingent of soldiers, both Brotherhood and Minutemen, who volunteered as a sort of honor guard for the cemetery. The Castle was winding down, but there was still a sizeable amount of activity as the night shift began doing rounds. Danse was sitting at his desk, reviewing the week's report. The financial numbers, the input and output of labor and goods, medical records…all of it was to be marked and filed and put in review for recordkeeping purposes.

He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. His desk had been added to the General's office, off to the side. Danse had insisted that he be positioned in a more "secretarial" position, because he did not want people forgetting who the real boss of the Minutemen was. The General had remarked that this was an unnecessary demand, but eventually appreciated the sentiment. It had dual effects: the General was never around as a result of constantly being out in the field or out and about, but when it was time for him to arrive at his office, no one forgot who was in charge.

Danse signed off on a promissory note agreeing to pay Bunker Hill traders a fair wage for their recent import of medical supplies to the Castle, and adjusted his reading glasses. The General had found them some time ago, and suggested that Danse invest in them if he was so insistent on staying up late at night reading paperwork and doing clerical maintenance. At first, Danse was hesitant. He was already the pipe-smoking fusspot. Must he really be so…professor-like? But when he realized that the glasses did help a little bit, he kept them around.

He took a moment to take a puff from his pipe, which for the past few moments had been absently dangling from his lip, as a knock on the door echoed through the room.

"It's open." He said, not bothering to look up. He knew who was coming in.

The door opened, and Isabel Cruz walked inside. She was wearing her typical shirt and jean ensemble, and she was covered in grease and oil and other signs of mechanical tinkering. Danse looked up from his desk and saw her putting on her best guilty face.

"You're a little late." He said.

"I know…" She said. "It's just that Shaun asked me to help him with something at the module and then I got to tinkering around on a robot's core drive and then the next thing I know it's pitch-black out and I've kept Shaun up past his bedtime and I've missed the appointment time for this but I know I can't blow you off so-"

"Isabel, relax." Danse said, gently raising his hand as a signal for her to slow down. "I'm not mad. I just wanted to know what happened."

"Oh. Right." Isabel took a seat in the chair across from Danse at the desk, and started fiddling with her thumbs. Danse continued scribbling something in his notes.

"So." Isabel said.

"So…" Danse repeated, in a manner suggesting that he was waiting for her.

"So I had a pretty productive day." Isabel said. "I woke up early, and I spent the majority of my morning until lunchtime working on the turrets over on the far walls."

"What was the problem with them?" Danse asked.

"They're a little finicky." Isabel said. "They're not rotating towards targets as fast as they could. Some of them are actually catching, and then aren't able to properly turn."

"Any issues with the firing controls?"

"No sir." Isabel said. "That stuff is pristine. It's just the gears for the turning that are a little rusty. Nothing that some good elbow grease and oil can't loosen up."

"Okay, I'll put in an order for that when Diamond City's traders come in tomorrow." Danse said. He steepled his hands together, his elbows resting on the desk. "What else?"

"Not much. Hung around with Shaun and helped Miss Curie in the lab, just running around and doing some errands. And then I went with everyone to the funeral." She paused. "It was…sad."

"Yes, it was." Danse admitted. "No matter how much levity you try to inject into the proceedings, funerals are always a solemn affair."

"Have you been to a lot?" Isabel asked. Danse sighed.

"Too many." He said. "They don't really get any easier, if that's what you're asking." He scribbled some notes on a piece of paper, and then looked Isabel in the eye. "Are you doing alright, Isabel?" He asked.

She sighed.

"I…I'm okay." She said. "It's just…going to the funeral kind of reminded me of just what the consequences of what I was doing at the factory are. I mean, I didn't mean for anyone to die but…they did." She trailed off, her voice growing small. Danse saw where she was going.

"Isabel, it's alright. There's nothing that you can do to change what's happened. And for what it's worth, you understand what happened now. And you didn't kill those people. The robots did."

"Is there a difference?" Isabel asked. Danse furrowed his brow in thought, and then nodded.

"Death is something to take serious, but I do believe that there are differences between killing someone by accident and then killing someone intentionally." He said. He looked her in the eyes. "When I was…a mercenary, I was in the Capital Wasteland and I killed a lot of people. Directly. No robots to help. I was the one that pulled the trigger. And if you're wondering, yes, there are times where I wonder if the people I killed were as bad as I thought they were, or if I was doing the right thing." He shook his head. "I guess in the end, the words of the Elder from the funeral are important to remember: you may not have intended to kill those people, but as long as you remember _why_ then you can learn not to make the same mistakes again. And that's all that this is about." He adjusted his reading glasses, as they'd started to slip down his nose. "I'm not here to be a jerk and boss you around, Isabel. I'm here to help you understand what you did, and that our actions have consequences. And you won't have to do this forever. But you do need to atone for your actions. We all do, in the end."

"I know…" Isabel said. Danse nodded.

"For what it's worth, Miss Curie said that you are a delight in the lab. And the General passes on his thanks for keeping Shaun so entertained while the General was in Sanctuary." He said. He noticed the surprised expression on Isabel's face, and allowed himself a small smile. "Have a good night, Isabel. And get some sleep. You look tired."

Isabel nodded, and she walked out the door. Danse watched her go, and as soon as he heard the door close he looked back down at the small booklet in front of him. He had a few more letters to write. And some forms to sign. And a few commissions to grant to new officers in the Minutemen. And then some personal correspondence to get to.

He chuckled. Paperwork. It was clearing going to be a loud night.

…

It was long after dark, almost to the point where it was closer to sunrise than it was to sunset. There was a harsh chill out, the exact kind of weather that made even the hardiest of monsters scuttle for warmth. If he could, he was sure that every breath would be a cloud in front of him. But being synthetic meant a couple of things, and one of them meant reduced reaction to high heat or bitter cold.

It also meant high resistance to radiation.

Nick Valentine sighed as he walked through the cratered remains of what was once the Institute. Most everything around here was setting off his internal Geiger counter: each and every piece of evidence that wasn't computerized had to be dosed with a metric ton of RadAway in order for organics to even handle. Anything else he could upload to a holodisk, and that was easier to do. But it was slow going, and there were times where he really wondered why he had bothered taking this job.

Well, he told himself as he gathered a multitude of holodisks and other preserved pieces of information into a burlap sack, it was a terrible job. But someone had to do it.

He climbed out of the deeper parts of the crater, and sat down up near the top of the crater, right in front of the ruins of CIT's main building. Somehow even that was standing. And as far as rads went, it was pretty clean. Still feeling some of it, no doubt, but it was better than the very depths of the crater that Nick had explored.

He lit a cigarette, and took a look around. Part of the reason that he hated this job was the fact that all living things seemed to avoid the hole, even the Deathclaws. If _Deathclaws_ were skittish about showing up somewhere, then it must truly be an evil place. And it was so deathly quiet. Nick felt that he could probably hear a pin drop.

And that was when he heard the cracking noise.

He stood upright, sitting up from the broken piece of marble that he'd been sitting on. He kept his hand on the burlap sack (which he'd tied up a few moments before), and his other hand absently drifted down towards the revolver he kept on his hip…

Another crack. It was like someone stepping on something. Nick drew his weapon, an old pipe revolver, and pointed it in the direction of the noise. He waited for a moment, and then spoke up.

"You aren't fooling anyone, pal. Why don't you come on out and we talk about this like adults?"

There was a pause. And then a thunderous crack. A bullet planted itself in the marble next to him, practically exploding in a powder of stone and dust. Nick vaulted over the cover, and got down to his belly. He turned over, and fired once in the general direction of the shot. He laid on his back, silently, and then slowly rose up.

Another bullet seemed to whistle over his nose, and he darted back down for cover. Now he was crawling on his belly like a rat, trying not to stay too high as a few more bullets whistled overhead or dangerously close to where he was. He managed to shimmy up next to some cover, at the corner of some building, and risked sticking his arm out.

A bullet hit the corner of the building a foot or so from where he was, and he felt a registry of high pain in his right arm. Right above the elbow. He grunted, and he dropped down to a sitting position. The burlap sack fell right next to him. Nick tried to bend his arm, and winced as the pain registries started to flare up again. No dice. He could move it a little bit, but there was no way that he had full motion. He needed to see a doctor. Imagine that.

He held his revolver in his good hand, and checked the ammo he kept in his belt. He had, counting the bullets unfired in the gun, about fifteen total shots. He should have packed more.

There was an eerie silence, and then he thought he heard what amounted to harsh whispering or a slight scuffle of sorts. He listened with bated breath. Finally, a voice cut through the gloaming.

"Friend! Are you still there?"

Nick was flabbergasted. First they were shooting at him, and then they were calling him friend? Who were these jokesters?

Another time, the voice rang out.

"Friend! We promise we shall not shoot! This might have been a great misunderstanding, and we meant you no harm." It was a gravelly voice. If Nick didn't know any better, it sounded a little like Strong. So Nick decided to take a risk.

"First you try to blow my head off, and now you're acting like I was the best man at your wedding?" Nick snapped. "You've got a real interesting definition of the word 'friend,' pal!"

A brief pause.

"I apologize. My partner can be very twitchy when she senses someone she doesn't recognize."

"Well tell your friend that she'd better be cool, or this friendship isn't going to last much longer!" Nick said. "Shooting at someone isn't exactly the best of first impressions." He looked around, as if sensing a flanking maneuver. "What are you yokels doing out here, anyway? Don't you know this is a dangerous rad zone?"

"We were simply passing through, hoping to get to a nearby settlement of sorts. Are there any nearby?"

"This might come as a shock, but after being shot at I am suddenly very reluctant to tell you if there are!" Nick said. "I hope you understand my reticence!"

"My friend, that is truly understandable. Now, perhaps we could settle this like gentlemen? Why don't we step out into the open so that you see who we are, and then you can reveal yourself-"

Nick had stopped listening. Because something else was currently in his ear.

 _Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep…_

"What is that noise?" The voice asked. Nick looked across the crater, and in the dark he could make out the pin prick of flashing red.

"SUICIDER!" Nick shouted. He popped out of cover, and opened fire. He hoped that one of his shots would get the idiot.

He guessed right.

The massive explosion lit up the night, and it revealed a terrifyingly large number of Super Mutants on the other side of the crater. As soon as they saw their friend go up in a blaze of stupid, idiotic, "glory," they remembered that they too had guns and began to fire on Nick's position. He crouched for cover, cursing himself for forgetting that no Super Mutant was stupid enough to travel in anything less than a full pack.

In the midst of the din, he heard a voice.

"FRIEND! RUN! WE'LL HOLD THEM OFF!"

 _Fat chance of that,_ Nick thought to himself. Those people might have shot at him, but accidents can happen. But there was brave and there was stupid, and trying to fight an entire squad of Super Mutants by yourself was-

And that was when a group of raiders, coming in from another angle, started firing on the Super Mutants, creating a massive menagerie of mayhem. Gunfire. Explosions. Screams. Shouts. Everything and anything that could happen was happening.

There was no more messing around. If he wanted to get out alive, it was time to do the last thing that Nick Valentine ever wanted to do.

Call for help.

Setting down his revolver, he reached into his coat pocket. As soon as he'd grabbed what he was looking for, he aimed it high in the sky.

And when he pulled the trigger, the flare shot up into the dark like a firecracker, and illuminated the night in a pallid, bloody red.

Their motto was defend the people at a moment's notice, huh?

Nick hoped that was true.

A/N: Cliffhanger! And now we really start pushing the plot a little bit, after our visitors from DC have been dancing around the main plot for a few chapters. Hope you guys liked this one. I've been getting a lot of questions about the LW's motives, relationship with Arthur Maxson, the mystery surrounding Sarah Lyons' death and if there even _is_ a mystery, and why she's so…dark. And yet at the same time, why does Fawkes, a paragon of karma from Fallout 3, choose to continue following her? These are all great questions, and they will all be answered.

Just not this time.


	5. She Has a Name

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Chip Walker was old. He'd been old back when even other old people in the Commonwealth were young. He was the sort of guy that was possibly unkillable, at least not by conventional means. And it wasn't because of any particular reason. It was because of the fact that he was just a survivable sort.

Joining the Minutemen was just a given, really. If he wasn't capable of dying, then he was certainly capable of helping defend the people at a moment's notice. He'd signed up for a basic commission, because at least the caps were decent, and he'd been posted with a small garrison over at Hangman's Alley, that small little settlement across from the remnants of the Institute. And he'd been hoping for a somewhat quiet night.

And then he saw the flare shoot up into the night sky…directly over the crater.

He sighed, and grabbed his bolt-action pipe rifle.

"C'MON, BOYS!" He howled, waking up every settler in the alley. "GIT YER GUNS! GOTTA MOVE, GOTTA MOVE!"

He heard swearing and shouting as the men and women who were volunteer Minutemen stumble in the dark, grabbing their weapons and equipment. In about two minutes, they had assembled out to the entrance of the alley, and Chip threw open the doorway. From there, it was a mad dash across the bridge towards the Institute remnant. There was no way of knowing just what it was that was at the center of that flare. Could be mutants. Could be Deathclaws. Could be anything, really. But they were the closest ones there, and thus it was their responsibility to deal with whatever the threat was.

They took a position overlooking the crater, and almost immediately everyone was ready to fire.

"FIRE VOLLEY!" Chip barked.

The roar of machine guns, laser muskets, and whatever the Minutemen had gotten their hands on echoed through the crater. After about ten seconds of frantic fire, everyone's guns fell silent…on the eerie quiet that had settled on the crater.

"Stay frosty…" Chip muttered.

Then, a voice cut through the darkness.

"Defend the people at a moment's notice, huh? Could have cut me down at a moment's notice too, you putzes!"

Chip tried not to smile, and waved for his troops to settle.

"Stand down. It's the Synth detective from Diamond City." He raised his voice. "Valentine! Are you alright?"

"Having trouble movin' my arm, but other than that I'm just peachy!" Valentine's voice shouted back. "Also had to deal with the air getting very thick with bullets, thanks to you jokers." There was a pause. "Besides, you guys missed the fun!"

"What do you mean?" Chip asked.

"Look around, pal!" Nick shouted back, getting out of his hiding place and gesturing around. "You see anyone alive down here?"

The Minutemen all took a good, long look. Sure enough, there were about fifteen dead Super Mutants, and around that many raiders scattered on the ground. Each and every one of them was dead. There was a stunned silence.

"Did we do that?" One of the Minutemen asked.

"Nope!" Valentine said, walking up to the Minutemen. They noticed that his arm was bent awkwardly. "I'm afraid that you were all scooped by someone bigger and meaner than any of you."

"Who was it?" Chip asked.

"Not sure." Nick said. "But I think that the General might want to hear about this. When's the next caravan out to the Castle?"

…

It was a sunny and quiet morning. The kind that he hated. Danse was sitting on the battlements, his feet dangling over the edge. His pipe was clamped in his teeth as he applied some new snuff. He knew that a quiet morning was something to enjoy; they didn't come often in the Commonwealth. But the thing was, this was the Castle. And whenever things were quiet, that meant-

 _WHAM._

"Run!"

"Monsieur Shaun, come here this _instant!_ "

Groaning and wondering why it was that he always had to play babysitter, Danse stood up and looked down in the courtyard. Shaun was running out from the lab, and a rather irate Curie was chasing after him. At first, Danse wondered why she was running after him in the first place, considering that Curie was about as mild as a glass of water.

And then he spotted what was in Shaun's hands. It looked like…Curie's personal journal.

The boy wasn't just rambunctious. He was suicidal.

Danse slid down the ruined wall on the side of the Castle (one of these days they'd have to repair it), and took a few steps so that he was about to cut Shaun off at the pass. Shaun saw Danse, and with a chuckle tried to cut back and run in another direction.

Only to tumble over his own two feet and crash to the ground. Curie picked up the journal, and dusted it off with an annoyed look.

"The next time that you wish to learn about anatomy, it would be better if you simply asked me instead of peeking in my medical journals!" Curie said. Shaun was too busy groaning, and rubbing his shin. What had tripped him in the first place? Danse looked over, and smiled at the culprit.

"Earning your keep here, I see."

"Someone has to keep an eye on this little nuisance." Ada stepped out into the light, her robotic limbs creaking with every step. She'd been outfitted with proper Assaultron legs and arms for her most recent iteration. Ada was the most willing guinea pig for Shaun and Isabel's constant tinkering in the customization module. Some days she was a Protectron, and other days she was a massive Securitron. But most of the time she preferred the mobility of an Assaultron. The General kept her around as an assistant of sorts, though Danse was skeptical that she did much of anything these days.

"I'm not a little nuisance. I'm almost five feet tall! In fact, I think I _am_ five feet tall!" Shaun said with a degree of pride. It was true, the boy was growing. It was just yesterday when he was just a little tyke, it seemed like. Now he was legitimately growing.

Privately, Danse had held more than a few ecstatic conversations with the General. Not only was the General glad to see that his son was growing because of a fatherly reason, but because of the implication: Shaun was an advanced enough Synth that he was actually capable of growth and development like a regular human being. Sometimes Danse wondered if he too was like that, or if he had been developed an adult, and given teenage memories as a starting point.

He chose not to think too hard about that.

"Whether you are proud of that or not, you should apologize to Curie." Ada said. "My scanners sense what you humans would call 'annoyance' radiating off of her."

"I am not mad, Shaun. Simply disappointed." Curie said. "And in doing this, you're just taking tmie away from your studies! You are supposed to be learning geometry with Codsworth and me today. No excuses."

" _Aww!_ " Shaun looked over to Danse, a pleading expression on his face. Danse just chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.

"No dice, kiddo. You're not here on the Castle just to have fun all the time. There's a time for work, too. Get to it, and you might get done quicker than you think."

Shaun just stuck out his tongue, but he relented and followed Curie back towards the Castle labs.

"Gotta say, fusspot, you're lucky that he didn't just flip ya off."

"Someone should put a bell on you." Danse said, not even turning around to look at Cait. The Irishwoman chuckled.

"What, did I get the great and mighty fusspot Danse spooked?"

"I don't spook."

"Sure ya do." Cait said. "I heard about that time ya were in the Salem museum with General Tightbritches."

"Cait, that was because we were being stalked by a savage _Deathclaw._ "

"What's your point?" Cait asked. "Only sissies get scared."

"Oh? And I suppose that also applies to people who are afraid of molerats?"

Danse delighted in the suddenly skittish look on Cait's face.

"Don't you fuckin' bring those things up. Vault 81 proved to me that there is nothing worse than a molerat. You look in their eyes and see that there ain't shite goin' on in there. Just a vacant fuckin' stare."

"Yes. Because the true threat of the Commonwealth is not Deathclaws or Mirelurks or Stingwings or all of the above, it is the vacant gaze of a stupid molerat."

"You're mocking me, Danse. I don't like ta be mocked."

Danse chuckled, and then he saw that the caravan was approaching the Castle. He turned towards the Minutemen stationed on the battlements.

"Eyes up! Friendlies coming into the fire zone!" He barked.

…

It was a large caravan. It had started in Diamond City, and then some traders from Goodneighbor had invited themselves onto the caravan. Danse sighed. This just meant that there was going to be more paperwork, as each and every competing trader was going to file a claim for reimbursement. Sometimes he felt like the accountant for the entire Commonwealth.

But what got his attention was the sight of Nick Valentine and Hancock in the crowd.

"Where's the boss?" Hancock shouted, looking at Danse. "We got an issue here!"

"I'm here." As if from thin air, the General was standing next to Danse. Now Danse was wondering if getting people bells wasn't the problem, but rather the fact that he was going deaf. "What's wrong?"

"Nicky's banged up."

"I'm fine, you grandmother. Goodness, I'm not dying." Nick said. He looked at the General. "I'm alright, so don't worry." But then his arm drooped to the side. Blue shook his head.

"Someone get me Doc Fellows!"

…

"Hmm…" Doc Fellows took a look at Nick's arm. "Yeah, there's definitely a slug in there. Just about an inch above the elbow. Can you bend the thing?"

"With some difficulty, but yes."

"Well don't. It might cause the bullet to mess with whatever you've got for nerves and tendons in there. Most likely wires, right?"

"Your bedside manner for Synths is wonderful, Doc."

Blue and the others watched the examination with some interest and concern. Nick was in good spirits, but if he couldn't use an arm…

"Can you get it out?" Blue asked.

"I could, but that might be a problem because I don't know the physiology of machines. I don't want to do anything that might damage the wiring. And I don't have tools that are that fine."

"I do."

Everyone turned around to see that Shaun and Isabel Cruz were there, listening in. Isabel spoke again.

"I'm…good with machines. And so is Shaun. We could use the customization module as a sort of surgical center, and we'd be able to extract the bullet as well as repair any damage to the joint." She offered.

"Can you do that?" Nick asked. Doc Fellows considered it.

"Okay." He said. "But I'm going to walk you through it too, because even if he's a machine that doesn't mean that he doesn't have feelings or other intangible problems that could come from removing a slug that big."

They made their way over to the module. Nick took a moment and stepped inside, and observed the drills that were now circling around his arm.

"Cute toys." He said.

"Quit fidgeting." Doc Fellows said. He looked over at Shaun and Isabel. "Can you punch something in that computer of yours that will extract the bullet without doing any damage to the wires around it?"

"Let me see…" Isabel typed a few commands into the console. "Yes! But then we're going to have to immediately work on repairing the arm. Shaun, can you get some of the smaller drills working?"

"Yup!"

"This is comforting. I'm having orthopedic surgery performed by a teenager and a child, with a hippie doctor as their guide."

"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy, Uncle Nick, this'll be awesome!"

While they were working on extracting the bullet, Hancock and the General were off to the side in quiet conversation.

"So what happened?" Blue asked.

"Magnolia was singing a song for this dame that came in with a Super Mutant, and then a couple of punks pull a knife on Magnolia. The dame goes and damn near kills them all."

"Why does that bother you? That can't be the first time that there's been a scuffle in the Third Rail."

"It isn't that. Magnolia is thinking about it. And when she's thinking about something like that, it's usually leading into something bigger."

"What, is Magnolia a psychic in addition to being a singer?" Blue asked with a wink.

"Well, I'm a psychic too if you gimme enough chem-"

"Hancock, we've been over this…"

"Got it!"

They all turned around to see that the slug had been successfully removed from Nick's elbow. Blue walked over to the module, and cleared his throat to get Nick's attention.

"What can I do for you, chief? I'd give you a hand, but right now one of them is tied up at the moment." Nick said.

"How'd you take that one?" Blue asked.

"This? I was patrolling the crater when I got jumped by some accidental fire. It was a travelling pair, I think. Guy and a gal, but the guy was doing the talking. Sounded big and rough and grouchy almost like…a super mutant." Nick said. "Though he was a lot better about speaking than Strong."

"Hey dad, catch!"

Blue managed to catch the bullet shell from Shaun, who chuckled as he chucked it at his dad. Blue stared at it for a moment.

"What do you see, chief?" Hancock asked.

"…That's a .50 caliber…" Blue muttered. He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small grenade.

"Whoa, I didn't think you had any of those left!" Hancock said. "What's the occasion?"

"Once is happenstance." Blue said. "Twice is coincidence." He pulled the pin. "But three times? Three times is enemy action." He tossed the grenade off to the side of the Castle.

"Where are you going, Dad?" Shaun asked.

Blue turned back to look at him.

"I think I need to ask Elder Maxson a few things."

…

He'd been at his wits end for the entire day. Budget meetings that lasted forever. Gladhandling with the Upper Deck assholes. Civil engineers asking for more of the budget than they could properly use. And then there was Horatio Zwicky's totally understandable complaint that being the only defense attorney (with no legal experience) against a potential city of them all was bothering him.

Willie Pitt needed a drink.

He stopped inside the Dugout Inn, and soon Vadim was laughing with joy.

"Comrade Mayor! I thought you never wanted to show your face in this establishment again! Something about too below your tastes?" He said with the biggest shit-eating grin in the world. Willie shook his head.

"Just gimme a drink with no sass, please."

"One drink with double sass, coming right up!"

Willie rolled his eyes and smiled, and took a seat at the corner of the bar. Vadim came back with the shot of whiskey and started buffing a cup right next to Willie.

"How are you, friend?" Vadim asked.

"Tired and pissed." Willie said. "I want to stab Ann Codman in the eye with a fish hook, and I'm trying to get Kessler to understand that Diamond City isn't Bunker Hill's bitch. And I'm having trouble finding someone who wants to help my defense attorney for the trial."

"Hmm…I am afraid that I cannot help you with the first two, as none of my ideas are, how you say, legal or ethical." Vadim said with a chuckle. But then he pondered his next words. "But I think I might be able to help you with the other."

Willie looked up at him.

"How so?"

Vadim pointed to a bar patron off in the corner.

"New guy. Part of latest wave of settlers. Apparently smart man, and has large collection of books. Seems to know a lot. Might know a thing or two about legal matters?"

Willie Pitt looked over at the gentleman in the corner, who was smoking a cigarette and reading a book. Not a holopad book, but a legitimate book.

 _A People's History_ …he couldn't make out the rest of the title.

Willie downed his shot.

Why the hell not?

…

The Vertibird picked him up with no trouble, and within moments the machine was flying back to its home. He'd demanded that it dock with the Prydwen instead of wait in the Boston airport, and the pilot agreed to the demand. It wasn't like he was an enemy of the Brotherhood; he was just an ally. And at least he'd asked nicely.

A few Brotherhood soldiers nodded in respect as he stepped off the Vertibird and entered the Prydwen's tinny landing deck. A few of the initiates all stared at him in awe, but then returned to their duties. He looked around for a familiar face.

He found one.

"Haylen!" He barked.

Scribe Haylen looked over, and could barely contain her happiness to see her old friend. Long before his falling out with the Brotherhood and his ascendency to the title of Minuteman General, Nathanael Greene and Scribe Haylen had been thick as thieves as part of the Cambridge police station team, under the command of Paladin Danse. Haylen was practically a little sister to Blue, and when the peace talks had concluded he'd privately petitioned Maxson that she be granted a promotion to an archivist's position as a reward for her hard work. Maxson had agreed, only on the condition that he get to boss her around every now and then.

"I would hug you but I think that's a violation of decorum." Haylen said with a smile. "What brings you here, buddy?"

"Keep it down, I got a reputation to maintain." Blue said with a wink. But then his expression darkened. "I need to see the Elder." Haylen paled.

"But he's in a meeting with the Proct-"

" _Now_ , Haylen."

He did so enjoy the look on their faces as he burst through the door.

"What the hell-?" Proctor Teagan growled. Proctor Ingram had a confused expression, but managed a cordial expression.

"Always knew how to make an entrance, didn't you?" She asked. Elder Maxson glowered.

"You do realize that you are interrupting a meeting between myself and my Proctor's Council, do you not?"

"Priority One, Arthur."

A silence passed over the room. The Brotherhood leader and the Minuteman General had established a handshake agreement: they would not interfere in the others' affairs…but if the moment came to it that they were given no other choice, they would let the other know by invoking the fact that their "special friendship" between armies and groups had the first priority. By invoking first priority, that was the moment when things were legitimately serious.

…

Elder Maxson looked at the General. And then he looked at the others.

"Leave us."

The Brotherhood high command all disappeared, leaving the two of them in the room together.

"What is it?" He asked.

"My friend Nick Valentine was shot in the arm by .50 caliber bullets fired out of a Desert Eagle."

He watched the color leave Arthur Maxson's face.

"Are you sure?" Elder Maxson asked quietly. ".50 caliber bullets? Fired from a Desert Eagle?"

"That's the same caliber from the shells in the slaver house, and it's the same caliber as the slug we pulled from Nick Valentine's elbow." Blue said. "And then Hancock came in and told me that earlier in the day there was a dust-up at the Third Rail involving a couple of greaser punks…and a woman. The woman cleaned house, and she had a Super Mutant with her."

Maxson looked like he had seen a ghost. He took a deep, shaky breath. And then he let it out. He looked out of the observation deck, gazing out into the Commonwealth below.

"It's her."

Blue raised an eyebrow.

"Who's…'her?'"

Arthur Maxson turned around and looked at Blue.

"Martel." He said. "Lucy Martel."

Another silence hung over the room.

"That's her name." Arthur Maxson said, sounding like a broken record. "Her name is Lucy Martel."

"How do you know?" Blue asked. "I mean, this could be pretty similar to what this Lucy Martel was capable of, but-"

"Nine years ago, in the Capital Wasteland, there was a place called Paradise Falls." Arthur Maxson interrupted. "Despite it's nice name, this was a place for slavers and other despicable excuses for human beings to live and work. She burned it all to the ground. By herself. Killed them all. Freed the slaves, but made sure to go to work on the slavers. And their friends. And anyone that was involved in the slave economy of Paradise Falls. She didn't just end the slave trade in the Capital Wasteland; she salted the earth." He shook his head.

"She finished the job by dragging all of the high slavers into a pile, and then took their leader, a man by the name of Eulogy Jones, and hung him from a flagpole." Maxson continued. "I didn't think anything of it, but…she had him hanging upside down from the rope. Didn't even give him the dignity of hanging like a regular criminal. She just strung him up, and then shot him like a dog. More than he deserved, really." He shook his head. "The slavers in the house…that's her work. Whenever there are slavers, it's personal."

"Was she a slave?" Blue asked. Maxson shrugged.

"Of a sort. She grew up in a vault. Vault 101. Isolated from the outside world, even though she had been born in the wasteland along with her father. It was authoritarian, and the Overseer didn't allow for any critical or subversive opinions. When her father left, they shot her father's friend because of spite, I suppose. And then she left. Ever since then, she viewed anyone denied the freedom of choice or the freedom of…anything, really, as the greatest of crime. The quickest way to set her off was the discovery of a slave ring, or something of that nature." He shook his head.

"So she doesn't like slavers, and goes out of her way to terrorize them." Blue said. "That's not exactly unique. How dangerous is this Lucy Martel?"

"Compared to what? The Bubonic Plague?" Maxson asked. He frowned.

"So she's killed a lot of things?" Blue asked. He steeled his gaze. "So have I."

Maxson snorted.

"You've only been doing this for a year. She's been doing this for ten." He said. "Besides, you and I are rank amateurs compared to her. I'd need a scorecard to keep up with her." He furrowed his brow in thought. "See, you might actually be able to get this reference: she has more bodies on her than a Chinese cemetery."

Blue nodded, but he still seemed skeptical. And then he thought of something.

"How do you know so much about this Lucy Martel?"

At this, Arthur seemed to retreat into himself. He gazed out the observation deck, and looked at the Commonwealth below.

"…Because besides Sarah Lyons, Lucy Martel was the most important woman in my life." He said. He turned to face Blue again. "Lucy Martel joined the Brotherhood of Steel shortly after the death of her father, determined both to avenge his death and bring peace to the Commonwealth. She did both. And for years afterwards, she was always there and always at the forefront of our operations. She was one of our best, and only Sarah could match her. They made her a Sentinel, just like Sarah. In fact, that was the last official act of Elder Owyn Lyons' career. God she was so happy that day." He smiled softly, as his eyes glazed and he started to walk down memory lane. "Sarah taught me the Brotherhood's creed, and taught me all of the things that I needed to know to be a good leader…but Lucy taught me how to _improvise._ She was creative. She was headstrong. And she butted heads frequently with the Proctors, preferring to march to the beat of her own drum."

"A bit of a rebel, huh?" Blue asked, a smile creeping on his face. "Sounds like she would have driven the Elder crazy."

"Not Owyn." Arthur said. "The old man adored her." He shook his head, a smile of his own coming to his face. "I remember the time I accidentally shot Sarah. The only thing that saved me from Elder Lyons' wrath was the hysterical laughter coming from across the room, as Lucy was positively _crying_ at my ineptitude. That caused Owyn to start chuckling, and I prayed that the world would swallow me whole in that moment. But it did spare me a tongue-lashing." He said. "I think that Elder Lyons lived a little longer because of Lucy. She was like a second daughter to him, and she treated him like another father figure too. His death hit her very hard."

A silence fell over the room. And then Blue spoke up.

"Then…why are you hiding up here in the Prydwen? Why aren't you down there, calling for her to return, and then giving her a mission? She would make a great asset to our cause."

Elder Maxson sighed, and looked away.

"That's…not likely to happen any time soon."

At this, Blue finally was fed up.

"Arthur, stop giving me the run-around! What am I missing? What happened that has soured your relationship with someone that was so dedicated to the Brotherhood and seemed like a woman all for justice? Who hates slavery and seemed dedicated to making the world a better place, if using admittedly rough methods to do so? What on earth is making you so hesitan-"

" _Because I ordered her death!_ "

Blue was shocked into silence. His jaw was slightly agape.

"On October 4th, 2280, as my first official order as Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, I gave a decree that deemed Lucy Martel a traitor to the Order of the Brotherhood of Steel, an exile who had betrayed the mission and goals of the Brotherhood, and ordered that she be shot on sight." Arthur Maxson said, his voice small and meek.

"What…what the hell for?"

Arthur turned to look at Blue. A tear was brimming in his eye.

"For the murder of Elder Sarah Lyons."


	6. Teetering on the Edge

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He stared at the man in front of him for a few moments. As far as revelations go, he'd heard more than a few doozies. Surprise, the world aged 210 years overall since you were last actively conscious in it. Surprise, your son grew up to be the leader of the Institute and has no memory of his own mother. Surprise, every Synth is genetically related to you in some way, shape, or form, so thank goodness you didn't end up doing the horizontal tango with that chanteuse from Goodneighbor (though the grief over losing your wife most definitely helped with that one).

But Nate had to be honest with himself: this one came out of left field.

"She killed her?" He asked. Maxson didn't nod or shake his head. The tears just started to brim a little bit, and then he looked away.

"Arthur, how did it happen?" He asked.

"I wasn't there." Maxson said. "So I don't know the specifics."

"But you must have been told. What did they tell you?"

"I was actually in my room, about to call it a night…except I'd been reading some book that Lucy had picked up in her travels across the Capital Wasteland so I naturally couldn't sleep." He said. "It was…dark. And quiet. And then the next thing I know Proctor Ingram…though back then she was just Paladin Ingram…started banging on my door and telling me that I needed to get dressed. I needed to go to the command center of the Citadel."

"The Citadel?" Nate asked.

"It was in the middle of the Capital Wasteland." Arthur said. "It's the base of the Brotherhood of Steel out there. Considering its depth and size and reinforced nature, I think it was a military structure of some kind from before the bombs fell."

"Jesus, the Pentagon…"

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just…showing my age, is all." Nate said. "Continue."

"I threw on some clothes, and I see that there's a crowd of high-ranking scribes and Knights and a few of the Proctors all in the room. They all turned to look at me…all at the same time, now that I stop to think about it. That was…somewhat unnerving." He took a deep breath. "And then they told me that the Lone Wanderer had killed the Elder of the Brotherhood."

"The…Lone Wanderer?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Before she officially committed to the Brotherhood of Steel, Lucy had a nickname of sorts, especially through that radio man from Galaxy News Radio." Maxson said. "They called her the Lone Wanderer. Sounds like something out of one of those pulp fiction novels that they might have sold back in your day, huh?" He asked.

"It's not a bad name." Nate admitted. "But back to the murder. What did they say? What was the context?"

"They told me…they told me that it had been a routine patrol into the deep north of the Capital Wasteland. I think the mission was to clear the roads so that we could start traversing into Bawlmer."

"Bawl…mer?"

"The city that's about thirty minutes or so north of the Capital Wasteland. It's almost part of the Capital, to be honest."

"Baltimore."

"What?" Maxson asked.

"It's…it's called Baltimore." Nate said, trying not to smile. Maxson frowned.

"Could you try taking this a little bit more seriously, Nate?"

"I'm sorry. I figured that periodically injecting a little bit of humor into the situation would make it easier as you relived the worst day of your life to a complete stranger, I imagine." Nate said.

"You're not a stranger, Nate." Maxson said. "I…I hold you in the highest of respect. We may not always agree, but I will never doubt your convictions. It's that reason and that reason alone that I'm telling you all this."

"…That's all?"

"Well…" Arthur said. "…That and the fact that I still wonder what happened to cause her to snap like that, and kill everyone…well, almost everyone."

"Almost everyone?"

"Yes. She executed Elder Lyons, and then massacred the rest of the team except for one man, who managed to escape in the carnage." Maxson said. "Proctor Teagan was the sole survivor…well, he was just Knight Teagan back then. But he was near incoherent when he returned to the Citadel. They told me that the only thing I could do was order her death…and I did." He turned to face Nate. "She disappeared, and they never found her. And oh, did we try to hunt her down. Tried to get to her through her friends, but none of them knew where she'd gone. It was like she'd vanished, like a ghost in the wind."

"Until now."

"Until now." Maxson repeated, nodding. "Nate, I can see it in your eyes that you don't quite buy into the stories that I'm telling you right now. So I want to be emphatic with you." He walked forward a bit, closing the gap. "Lucy Martel wasn't just the best field agent that the Brotherhood ever had, she was the most determined. When she put her mind to something, not even the demands of God could get her to abandon it."

"Why did she massacre the slavers like that?" Nate asked.

"To send me a message." Maxson said.

"And what message is that?"

"Goddammit if I knew that we wouldn't be _having_ this conversation!" Maxson snarled. "I have no idea why she's here in the Commonweath, and why she's here _now._ All I can assume is that she's coming to get me. Coming to get all of us."

"Did you ever try to bring her in and get her side of the story?" Nate asked. "You could always send out an overture to get her to listen to you. Something like that."

"Please." Arthur Maxson scoffed. "You're still not getting it. When Lucy wants to talk, you don't find her. She finds you."

…

He shuffled through the streets of Goodneighbor. No one gave him a second glance. He wasn't surprised. He was good at this sort of thing. The best, really. Ever since the Institute had gone up in smoke, things had been a lot easier when it came to moving Synths…but there was still a lot of work to be done. Most specifically, the boss wanted to keep a finger on the pulse of the goings-on of the Commonwealth. What was the Brotherhood up to? What were the Minutemen up to? Out of respect to his friend, he tended to sandbag when it came to reporting on the Minutemen…but he had no such qualms about spilling his guts to Desdemona about the Brotherhood. If nothing else, they were very informed about the comings and goings out of the Boston airport.

And it hadn't taken him long to blend right into Goodneighbor.

He saw a few people about to walk past him, and he lowered his gaze to the ground and started mumbling nonsense. They wrinkled their noses. Just another homeless drifter that had gone crazy. As if there was anything special about that. No one noticed.

He smirked a little bit as he walked past them. This was too easy. Hancock kept the people happy, but they weren't that sharp.

He walked past the alleyway, and didn't even bother looking towards it. There was nothing there.

And when he felt the hand grab him over the mouth, he was too stunned to even let out a cry for help.

And not a few moments later, there was nothing there.

…

He was hustled into one of the condemned buildings in Goodneighbor. One of many, to be honest. No one would know where he was. No one would care if he was dead. Not like there were a lot of people like that to begin with, but it was still a troubling thought.

He felt himself get roughly tossed to the ground, and he landed flat on his face. He was in a living room somewhere. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Goodneighbor condemned buildings. Things were really picking up.

He rolled over onto his back to get a look at the mysterious captor, and he was glad that his sunglasses hid his shocked expression. A woman who looked almost completely feral, dirtier than he was. Also a very large gun pointed at his face.

"So…who talks first?" He asked. "I talk first? You talk first?"

"Friend, I would not try my partner's patience. She can be…hasty."

Deacon looked over to the side of the room, and saw the Super Mutant sitting in a chair in the corner. The bastard was actually reading MacBeth. Oh, Strong would be _furious_ if he knew. Deacon turned back to look at the woman who was pointing the gun at him.

"So, sweetheart, I think that we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't we start over: I'm Deacon, and to whom do I have the pleasure of meetin-"

"Your boss. Now."

Her voice was colder than a Commonwealth nuclear winter. He was glad that his glasses were on, because it gave him a degree of protection from that icy stare. A pair of goggles resting on her forehead, and a scarf pulled down just below her chin. Also, a lot of grease smeared around her eyes and nose. He imagined that she was pretty under all that crap, but he also liked his sensitive bits inside his body.

"Sweetie…I'm just a beggar, man. I don't got a boss."

She turned off the safety. Deacon's smile faded. He knew a thing or two about bluffing. Hell, he was a master of it. It was how he soaked Nate whenever they played cards, even though he let the Minuteman General stack the deck just for the challenge. He was a master of lying.

And he knew that this lady wasn't kidding when she held that gun between his eyes.

"Before you kill me, at least tell me. You Brotherhood?" Deacon asked. The look on her face was unlike anything he'd ever seen: it was a mix of absolute, unspeakable rage combined with heart-rending sorrow. And then just like that, it was gone.

"No."

So brusque. Her table manners must be awful.

"So is it safe to say that you aren't a fan of the Brotherhood?" Deacon asked. "Because if that's the case…maybe we can help each other out?"

The lady was expressionless. But he knew a prompt to continue when he saw it.

"Look…I can't promise anything. But if you're looking to get yourself killed in a suicidal mission against Maxson's armed fortress…maybe my people can help you get some information."

"It is a tempting offer, friend." The Super Mutant said, still not looking up from his book. "But then again, what if this person is a liar?"

"He's not." The woman said. "He's a sweet-talker. But he's no liar."

"Lady, I think you have read me wrong." Deacon said with a smile. "I lie about everything."

"Not this."

"Oh?" Deacon asked. "And why is that?"

He was cut off by her shoving the barrel of her pistol right under his chin.

"…Good argument." Deacon muttered. "I'll take you to my leader. But you might wanna be a little less…brusque. We're a family, not a bunch of murdering assholes."

…

"Oy, fusspot!"

Danse looked up from his desk.

"What is it now, Cait?" He asked. "You have something to bother me with? Is it Shaun giving Codsworth a new coat of paint? Is it the fact that you've drunk the entire supply of whiskey in one sitting? Or did you tell Curie again that the claymore mines in the depot are full of candy, and that she should try to take them apart to find it?" He rested his chin on his hand. "Honestly, it's a wonder that you haven't been kicked out of here."

"Well, geez, way to suck the fucking fun out of it all." Cait said, frowning. "I just wanted to say hi."

Danse was thrown.

"Oh." He said. "…Hi."

"How are ya?"

"I'm…fine." Danse said. He re-adjusted his reading glasses, which had been knocked askew. Cait giggled.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

"Nothin'…" Cait said. "It's just…you look like a king fusspot with those glasses."

"Cait…" Danse said.

"Don't worry. Even I ain't cruel enough ta call someone that." She said with a smile. "But I'll think it."

"…It'll have to do, I suppose." Danse said. He gestured to a chair. "If you're sticking around, then you can sit down you know." Cait smiled, and took a seat.

"Whatcha workin' on, fusspot?" She asked. Danse smirked.

"If you must know, it's promissory note promising to reimburse Barney Rook and the Salem Volunteer Militia for their services in escorting the Institute Remnant to the Castle." He said.

"Ain't that militia just him?"

"It was." Danse said with a smile. "But ever since MacCready got it in his head that Rook might be a better sharpshooter than him, he's been sticking around up there. And before you know it, some more people start filtering in to Salem. And considering there are a few settlements around the city…"

"…Then I guess the Salem Militia ain't just an old man shoutin' ta the wind anymore." Cait said.

"No." Danse said. "And I've discovered that for all of his bluster and his…obfuscative nature, Mr. Rook is an _exceptional_ arguer when it comes to asking for more funds and supplies. The General and I just figure it's easier to give him what he wants than have to read an entire letter's worth of precedent for federal funding to state militias and the like."

"There ain't nothin' federal about us, ya know." Cait said.

"No. But the relationship between the Minutemen and the volunteer groups popping up around the Commonwealth is starting to look an awful lot like it." Danse said. "It's the nature of government. When things start to stabilize, things start centralizing. And then the outsiders start asking for their slice of the pie. And then you have to balance that with the overall interests of the state. And then you have to double back and make sure that attending to the needs of the state don't completely infringe upon the rights of the individuals and the little people that aren't part of the state. And then you have to double back and make sure that in doing so you aren't weakening the state and thus rendering the whole enterprise worthless. And then…I'm boring you to sleep." Danse said, raising an eyebrow.

"Just a tad." Cait said with a grin. "Never figured you were much of a policy wonk, Danse."

"I wasn't until the General beat it into my head."

" _Please._ You love this shite."

"…I confess to a certain twinge of satisfaction when everything is running properly."

"Figured. Ya fusspot." Cait said. She smiled, and then she looked off to the side.

"What's on your mind?" Danse asked.

"Nothin'."

"Which means something."

"No it don't."

"Yes, it does Cait. You never are thinking about 'nothing.'"

"Alright. I was actually thinking about…you." Cait said.

"Me?" Danse asked.

"Yeah." Cait said. "I mean…your…Goddammit, this is a little harder than I thought. I should have had more than one bottle of whiskey."

"Cait…are you asking me how I'm doing since I found out I'm a Synth?"

"That's…that's the gist of it, yeah." Cait said. "It's just…I don't know what that's like. Whether it's different than bein' human or anything like that."

"Well, considering up until a few months ago I had no idea that I _was_ a Synth, I don't think that it's that much different."

"Really?" Cait asked. She smirked.

"What." Danse asked, not even bothering to inflect a questioning tone. He knew that what was coming next was inappropriate.

"Just wondering if Synths ever…ya know…"

Danse took a moment to consider if Cait really was asking what he thought she was asking. And then he sighed.

"I have urges just like a regular human." Danse said. Cait started to giggle uncontrollably.

"You're one to talk." Danse said. "I seem to recall that you hold a torch for the General."

At this, Cait stopped laughing. She sighed.

"What?" Danse asked.

"Not anymore, I don't." Cait said. "I mean, don't get me wrong, he's still one of me best friends and he's a hell of a lot more handsome that you fusspot. No offense."

"None taken." Danse chuckled.

"It's just…I dunno." Cait said. "I've thought about it, ya know? Wondered if he'd be a good shag, all that shite." She shook her head. "But the more time I spend with him…I realize that I don't wanna be with him like that. I…I don't wanna ruin what we got right now."

"And what is it that you have right now?" Danse asked. He wasn't sure why he was interested in this, but then again things had been pretty damn weird in the months since he'd taken refuge here in the Castle.

"…Friendship." Cait said. "And that means a lot to me. I don't wanna fuck it up with…well, what I usually do." She shrugged. And then she raised an eyebrow. "You ever been with anyone, Danse?"

"You mean-" Danse nearly coughed his lungs out in awkward confusion. Cait just shrugged.

"I'm just sayin'. You _are_ a Synth. Wasn't sure if the Institute properly equipped ya-"

"Yes." Danse said. "It was when I was still in Rivet City, before I joined the Brotherhood. She was a bartender, her name was Debra, I was a punk, and somehow she didn't decide to just hit me in the face with a baseball bat."

Cait stared at Danse in utter disbelief. And then she started laughing hysterically. Danse just rolled his eyes, and pointed towards the door with the pencil in his hand.

"Good night, Cait."

Cait was coughing so much Danse wondered if she was going to pass out. But she managed to make it out of the office under her own power, hooting and hollering the entire time. Danse sighed, and leaned back in his desk.

He hadn't been entirely truthful with Cait.

There'd also been Layla, Regina, and that one lady from Megaton.

…

There was a knock on the door. He sighed. He'd been doing so well grading papers lately that he knew that someone or something was going to come along and ruin it. He sighed again, and then slowly got up from his desk.

"Oh, darling? The mayor is here to see you!"

"Of course he is." Horatio Zwicky muttered. "Coming!" He said out loud.

He walked down the stairs of the school, headed towards the living area. What he saw through him for a loop. There was the mayor, yes, and his wife Edna. But there was also someone else there with the mayor.

A Ghoul.

"Hope we weren't interrupting." Mayor Pitt said. "I just wanted to come by as soon as I could." He cleared his throat. "Horatio, this is Zinn. He's a…what did you call it?"

"A travelling historian." Zinn said, offering his hand to Mr. Zwicky. Horatio took it, surprised with how strong the Ghouls' grip was. "I had the good fortune to get my PhD the spring before the bombs fell…I was teaching when they went off…and now I'm still here. Over two hundred years later." He sighed.

"That's…a long time." Zwicky offered lamely. Zinn chuckled somewhat.

"I know what you're thinking. God, what is it like? Wouldn't you go insane? And I think I might have for the first few years. But…that got boring. And then I got a bright idea. If I was gonna live for a really long time, then I was gonna store as much old world history in this Ghoul-y brain of mine, and spread the word. I was in Baltimore for about fifty years, and when I heard the Commonwealth was settling a bit I thought I'd come home."

"Baltimore?" Mayor Pitt asked. "You mean Bawlmer, right?"

"No. I mean _Baltimore._ " Zinn annunciated with annoyance. "God, it is so bizarre literally living through the corruption of language…" He muttered to himself. "Sorry. I get a little lost sometimes. But anyway: one of the benefits of being over 200 years old is that you get more time to learn and study. And one of the things I've studied is legal history."

"Which is a fancy way of saying that he knows more about the rule of law than any of us." Mayor Pitt said. "I thought he'd be an invaluable help for you in order to set up a fair trial."

Mr. Zwicky sighed, and rubbed his face in his hands. And then he took Zinn's hand and shook it.

"I guess we'd better get started?" He asked. Zinn nodded.

"Yeah. We're in for a doozy."

…

She reached for her lighter, and sighed. She was starting to run low on cigarettes. One of these days she was going to have to send Deacon back up to the surface for more than just recon: he'd also need to accrue supplies and maybe, just maybe start networking a little bit. Desdemona took a drag from her cigarette, and leaned against the sarcophagus.

Things weren't really the same ever since the Institute had been destroyed and the Brotherhood and the Minutemen had signed that treaty. On one hand, the specter of the Institute was gone. That meant that the Synths that had made it out of their prison were a little bit safer. Now there was just the Brotherhood, who had made it clear that while they were at least going to look the other way unless their hand was forced when it came to currently active Synths, they were so adamant against the expansion of Synths that it wasn't even funny. She also knew that their ethics were probably flexible on that point.

And it wasn't like she could turn towards the Minutemen, either. Fixer wasn't really a friend anymore. Whatever true friendship that she'd hoped they had was ruined that night when she'd made the suggestion of how to get rid of the Brotherhood. She was pissed, both because it was a great plan to get the Brotherhood out of the Commonwealth…and because she knew that Fixer was right: killing innocents wasn't the point of changing anything.

And yet those innocent children were still going to grow up still indoctrinated under the sway of the Brotherhood's fascistic means. And Fixer could police it as best as he liked: but his trusting nature towards the Brotherhood of Steel would be his downfall. Desdemona just felt it in her bones.

So what could the Railroad do? How could they remain…necessary? Because right now she didn't like the fact that the only reason that they seemed to exist as they did was because the Minutemen allowed it. She wasn't a fan of being beholden to anyone else.

All of these thoughts just raced through her mind…only to disappear when she heard shouting from the entrance.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Glory's voice echoed through the chambers, alerting everyone in the HQ. "I hope that's a sandwich you're reaching for, big guy. Because whatever it is, I'm gonna make you _eat it!_ "

Immediately, Desdemona grabbed a pipe pistol and followed some of the Railroad troopers up towards the entrance. What she saw boggled the mind.

There was Deacon in front of them, on his knees with his hands up on his head. There was a woman dressed like a wasteland wraith right behind him, a pistol pointed right at the back of Deacon's skull. And then there was a Super Mutant…dressed pretty well, all things considered. He was at least making an effort, with the vest and pants. Deacon looked over at Desdemona and smiled.

"Hey, Dez. How ya doing?"

"I don't know who you are, stranger." Desdemona said icily. "But you need to think long and hard about what you're doing here. You are directly threatening the life of a dear friend. And no one hurts my friends."

"If I may?"

"Hey! I said keep still, Mutie!" Glory growled, swiveling her minigun over to the Super Mutant. He gently raised his hands up in defense.

"Please! There is no need for violence!" He said.

"You waltz in here and have one of our friends in an execution spot?" Glory growled. "I think we're _long_ overdue for some violence!"

"As much as it turns me on that you're so into the whole shooting people and stuff, Glory, you might actually want to hear what the big guy has to say." Deacon said. "You might like what you hear."

"Deacon…are you for real?" Glory asked.

"Do I look like a Synth to you?" Deacon asked.

" _Stop joking, dammit!"_ Glory hissed. Desdemona held up a hand, getting the Synth gunner to calm down. She looked the Super Mutant in the eye.

"Why doesn't she talk?" She pointed to the woman with the gun.

"My friend…ah, she isn't the most talkative." The Super Mutant said. "So I do the speaking for her these days."

"A Super Mutant is the more well-adjusted of the two of them?" Glory asked, raising her eyebrow.

"The irony is not lost on me." The Super Mutant admitted. "My name is Fawkes. My friend and I…well, we are pursuing something. We think that the Brotherhood of Steel has it. And while we know where the Brotherhood is, we don't know their stronghold's location. Rather, how fortified it is."

"What's in it for us to tell you?" Desdemona asked. "Maybe we're just a shell group for the Brotherhood."

Fawkes grimaced.

"Do not take this the wrong way, friend, but there is simply no way that you are affiliated with the Brotherhood of Steel. The subterfuge of your companion here confirms it." He pointed to Deacon. "My friend was able to track him down and figure him out."

"You-" Desdemona took a deep breath.

"Easily."

The word jarred everyone. It sounded like the woman growled her words. Fawkes nodded.

"So now that we have that business out of the way, can you help us?"

"What's in it for us?" Desdemona asked.

"I'm not sure." Fawkes admitted. "It just seemed like you were all capable of sneaking about without the Brotherhood noticing, so we figured we might enlist some help. Well, _I_ thought it was wise. It is unwise to attack the Brotherhood alone. Not that that has discouraged my friend here."

"So…you're not a fan of the Brotherhood, huh?" Desdemona asked. She took a drag from her cigarette. "Well, truthfully…neither are we. And maybe we can come to a deal. Of sorts. But there's no guarantee that we're going to be able to get you what you want…but we'll be your best shot."

There was a pause. And then the woman turned up her gun.

"I'm listening."

A/N: No way was I gonna take the "Glory dies" route that the Railroad storyline gives us. Seeing as how Blue sided with the Minutemen, that means that Glory ain't dead, bitch! All joking aside, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next one might be a bit of a doozy. Just saying…


	7. The Wolf May Change Her Coat

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

The sun was rising over the great ocean, and Piper shivered a little bit as she looked out towards it. There was a lot of activity going on in the Castle, even moreso than usual. And part of the anxiety came from the fact that there were more than just Minutemen troops and caravans in the area.

There were also a few Brotherhood of Steel soldiers walking around the area, lugging with them crates that clearly had some weaponry and other highly-technological stuff that she'd never remember the names of. The ones that had their helmets off were still kind of weird, as though that wasn't their normal state of being. A couple of Vertibirds were parked out beyond the Castle walls, and the pilots were busy running diagnostic tests. Blue liked to compare the Castle on a busy day to something called a "beehive," and whatever bees were (they sounded like Stingwings, but somehow smaller than your finger, if that was to be believed) Piper certainly got an idea of how busy they must be.

"What is on your mind, red coat?"

Piper was snapped out of her reverie by the presence of a very large and very reticent Super Mutant. Strong had been away from the Castle for the past couple of weeks, mostly with some Minutemen raids that were close to Quincy. The Quincy situation seemed to be deteriorating overnight; there were rumors that the city had banded itself a little confederacy, and were pulling in recruits and raiders and Gunners from the south. As of now, things were…tensely quiet. But Piper felt like they were all sitting on a powderkeg that was about to erupt. She hoped that, in the midst of all of this hullabaloo of getting Dr. Virgil out of the Glowing Sea, people remembered the threat that was right to the south.

"Hey, redcoat. Strong talking to you."

Huh? Oh, right.

"Um…nothing, really." Piper said.

"Hmmph. Humans never have anything on their minds. Brains too small."

"Thank you, Strong. That was a wonderful assessment of the human condition." Piper muttered under her breath.

"What is 'assessment?'"

Sometimes Piper forgot that, for all of his "cultured" nature, Strong was still a super mutant. Anything with nuance was gonna go right over the big guy's head. Of course, in classic Strong fashion, when Cait had remarked that everything went over the Mutant's head, Strong replied that his reflexes were too fast and that he caught anything going over his head.

Sometimes she wondered what she had gotten herself into when Blue had offered her a spot on his little adventuring band of misfits all those months ago.

"Daaaad, I wanna go!"

Piper and Strong turned around to see that there was a little commotion going on in the middle of the Castle staging ground. There was Blue, decked out in some mighty powerful-looking power armor (Danse had helped him modify the stuff). That wasn't the particuarlly strange sight. The strange sight was Shaun, literally holding onto Blue's armored leg like Dogmeat might grab a Mirelurk bone. Dogmeat. That little ball of fluff and sharp teeth was currently in Sanctuary keeping Sturges and that old Vault-Tec salesman company, but there were times where Piper missed his impeccable ability to get in everyone's way.

"Shaun, let go of him!" There was Isabel Cruz, trying (and failing) to pull Shaun off of his dad. Whatever annoyance Blue might have had for the situation dissolved at the sight of its absurdity, and he started to chuckle. And then he knelt down, matching Shaun's eye level.

"Shaun, buddy, you know that this is going to be a dangerous mission." Blue said. "I want you to be safe. And keeping you here is safe."

"But I don't _want_ to be safe!" Shaun shouted. He was legitimately angry. "You always tell me that the Commonwealth isn't that bad, and that it isn't anything to be afraid of, and yet you keep me locked up in the Castle! I want to see the world! I can handle myself, and you know it." He crossed his arms in a huff, and Piper had to admire the chutzpah of the kid. Not many people could talk like that to the General of the Minutemen. Blue sighed, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he did want Shaun to see the Commonwealth. But on the other hand, going to the Glowing Sea was a death sentence for even most of the most experienced soldiers alive.

"General?"

Blue and Shaun turned around. A Brotherhood soldier walked over, fully-clad in armor, towards the arguing father and son. He had a very ornate insignia on his shoulder pad, and the front of his armor had been painted over with a few clearly hand-drawn sayings and logos. The most prominent was the phrase in white paint that had been smeared into the chest piece.

 _Grub Killer_

"Can I help you, Paladin?" Blue asked. Piper was surprised that Blue was able to recognize the guy's insignia and rank just from a cursory glance. Because when the Paladin turned, she saw that there was another saying painted on and over the Paladin's ranking.

 _Lone Lion_

"I heard your little family dispute." The Paladin said. "And if I may, I can see both sides of the argument. On one hand, we got a reasonably protective dad. On the other, we got a kid acting normal and his age."

"Nice to know that Shaun and I fit stereotypes, Paladin." Blue said, a smirk crossing his lips. The Paladin chuckled. Even through the filtered speaker of his helmet, it was a warm sound.

"I wasn't finished. I was thinking that, instead of having you two argue over this thing forever and delay the mission, why don't we solve both problems at once?" He asked. "Why don't you continue on with the mission as planned, and the kid comes with me to Diamond City. We've got orders to head there and check out the garrison as well as trade, and the seam from the Castle to Diamond City is a lot safer than the Glowing Sea. Think that's a fair trade?"

"You mean entrust my son to a stranger?" Blue asked somewhat sarcastically. The Paladin chuckled.

"Nah. I'm a friend. And I promse you that with me, your son will not come to harm. He'll be right by my side."

Blue seemed to think it over for a moment. And then he turned to Shaun.

"Shaun, you listen to every word that this man says. Don't wander out of sight. Don't do anything foolish. And you'll be safe. Promise you can do that for me?" He asked. Piper watched Shaun's eyes and face light up in the most incredible way, and she struggled not to smile herself.

"Really?" Shaun asked.

" _Only_ if you behave." Blue said, both warmly and semi-sternly. Shaun nodded feverishly. With that, Blue turned towards the Paladin.

"Alright. You are responsible with my son's life. I can't stress it enough how important it is that he is returned back here in one piece. Are we clear?"

"Of course." The Paladin said.

"Good." Blue said. "Thank you for your offer, Paladin…" He trailed off, realizing that he had never asked for the man's name.

With a chuckle, the man removed his helmet. His face had a few wrinkles, even for a man that was clearly only in his thirties. Clearly he had been the veteran of countless campaigns. Dark skin, a thick beard, and a scar across his forehead that looked eerily like a Deathclaw slash. The Paladin smiled, a wide and toothy grin. He offered his hand towards Shaun.

"The name's Greg Bear. But everyone calls me Kodiak."

…

There was a knock on the door. Horatio Zwicky sighed, and turned towards his partner.

"You want to answer that?"

They'd spent the past five or six hours or so reviewing the case that had been brought forth against the Institute Remnant by the Commonwealth. Zwicky was thankful that Zinn was with him; the Ghoul knew a lot about the old law of the old United States ("A fat lot of good it was," the Ghoul had commented), and he had spent a good chunk of time expositing to both Zwicky and his wife about some of the finer points. And Zwicky was glad, because as he looked at the charges laid against the Remnant, he found his head spinning.

Conspiracy, Conspiracy to commit kidnapping, false imprisonment, kidnapping, negligent homicide ( _in absentia,_ which was apparently from a language called Latin), murder in the first degree, murder in the second degree, so many counts of identity theft…It was a wonder that they were charging the group all as one. If they charged every individual separately, then this trial could take forever. Though Zinn had warned that that was a possibility, Zwicky wasn't sure.

"I got it." Zinn muttered, getting out of his musty chair. He opened the door.

"Evening, Detective."

"Zinn. Nice to see you settling into Diamond City."

Zwicky turned to the door to see Nick Valentine. He was holding a sort of briefcase.

"What have you got there, Nick?" Zwicky asked.

"Well, according to the encyclopedia here, back in the day lawyers shared their information and charges with their opponents. Seeing as you've already got that info, I'm really here for a last social call. After this, I can't really interact with you."

"And why is that?" Zwicky asked. Nick chuckled.

"I don't know how much I can say, but I think it's pretty clear that I'll be called as a witness for the prosecution. And that means that I have to lay out the case in front of the jury against your clients. I guess that means you'll be able to cross-examine me, but other than that we have to suspend our friendship for a while. But don't worry, I'll buy the drinks as soon as this is over with." Nick said.

"Well, that's better than nothing." Zinn said with a dry chuckle. "Any news on who the prosecution or, for that matter, the judge is?"

"Well, Mayor McCheese is still finalizing things, but I'm pretty sure that he's bringing in someone from the outside to be the prosecutor. I think it's someone from Vault 81, of all places." Nick said.

"Greaaaat." Zinn muttered. "Just what we needed someone with no connection to the outside world who will have the persecuting nature to boot."

Ignoring his partner's bitterness, Zwicky turned towards Nick.

"And who's the judge going to be?"

"You can call me crazy as much as you like, but it's the gospel truth: It's gonna be Vadim."

" _Vadim?_ " Zwicky asked. "How…why?"

"I'm sure you're thinking cronyism, but let's be fair here. Who has been the best settler of disputes in Diamond City whenever anyone didn't want to go to Diamond City Security under McDonough which, I might add, was all the time?"

"Vadim." Zwicky admitted with a sigh.

"I know that he's a bit…unorthodox, but Vadim is probably the most level-headed person in this city. Mayor Pitt is really trying what he can to give the Institute a fair trial, which is more of an effort than anywhere else would give them. If Diamond City is the 'jewel' of the Commonwealth like it brags, then there's really no other choice."

"That's a fair point." Zinn said. He looked over at Zwicky. "Well, looks like we have to cross off visits to the Dugout Inn for the indefinite future."

"Someone will get you your beer, no worries." Nick said. He turned back towards the door, but right before he left he turned around.

"One last thing before I go: I'm not gonna mince words here. I spent years here in Diamond City investigating the disappearances that were traced to the Institute, as well as everything else that can attached to them. The evidence is quite stacked against them. And they were absolutely capable of some truly awful crimes." He paused. "Having said that, if you two go into this sandbagging it, I'll…be really disappointed." He tipped his hat. "Have a nice day, now." He walked out the door.

"Well, that was encouraging." Zinn muttered.

"He's right, you know." Zwicky said. "Let's give it an hour more, and then I have to grade essays. Edna can help you if you need a partner for the next few hours, but then I'll be back to it."

"Sounds good." Zinn said. He got to reading again, but then looked up. "Out of curiosity, how is the Institute Remnant getting to the city, again?" Zwicky heard this and sighed.

"There's a big caravan coming out of the Castle as we speak. The Brotherhood is supervising the exchange."

…

The Vertibird touched down right on the edge of safety. Piper shivered as she looked out towards the green decay that was the Glowing Sea. She looked around. More than a few of the Brotherhood soldiers that were involved on this mission seemed tense. They were all in their power armor, but there were a few of them that had special hooks attached to their armor. That was for the platform and the main point of the mission.

As Blue had explained it to her (as well as everyone else), part of the problem concerning Dr. Virgil was his current situation. On one hand, he had escaped the Institute, hidden in a low-rad cave in the Glowing Sea, and had somehow managed to reverse the FEV he'd taken to become a Super Mutant. But now, as a human, there was no way that he could get out of the Glowing Sea without a set of power armor. Without help, he was doomed to be trapped in the Glowing Sea, alone, _forever._ Piper shuddered at the thought.

At least now, there was a platoon of Brotherhood soldiers (and Minutemen who were lucky enough to have their own power armor) that were attempting the mother of all rescue missions. And Blue was on point. This was the sort of thing that he insisted he see through. Mostly because Dr. Virgil would only talk to him.

"General!" One of the Minutemen said to Blue, who was already clad in his power armor. "We've hit the Brotherhood outpost. Any further and the rads are gonna screw with the flight computers. We're gonna have to walk it from here."

"Understood." Blue said. He turned to the others. "Dismantle the X-01 armor from the bottom of the front Vertibird, and get it loaded up. Everyone else? Weapons locked and loaded. There are a lot of things that aren't nice in the Glowing Sea."

As the Brotherhood squad unloaded the power armor and attached it to the platform that the six brave (and strong) men were ordered to carry on their shoulders, Piper finally couldn't resist.

"Blue!"

He turned around, and his helmet collapsed so that she could see his face.

"What's up, Piper?" He asked.

"Just…be safe, ok?" She asked. "I don't like the thought of not being there with you."

"I know." Blue said. "I don't either. But I'd rather have you safe than dead by my side." He said. He looked around, and he lowered his voice. "You're too special to me for that." He then cleared his throat. "You be careful, alright? And make sure that the story you write on this isn't _too_ dramatic. Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction." He winked, and then his helmet re-covered his head and he joined the brave group that was to march out to the hole that Dr. Virgil called home. Even if he was still alive.

Piper chuckled. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction? He didn't need to tell her that: after all, she'd reported on the famed "single bookcase" covering of a hole in the Wall, after all. And had been poisoned by reporting on a basic story. She was used to weird. She was unflappable.

…Wait. Did he say that she was special to him?

Either the feeling in her stomach right now were butterflies in her stomach, or food poisoning.

Food poisoning. Yeah, that had to be it. Nothing to it. At all. Right.

…

The caravan moved deliberately. Shaun was sitting right in the center of it all, watching as the Brotherhood soldiers warily kept an eye on anything that might appear on the horizon. There were at least 50 people, all dressed in civilian clothes, being ushered in the center of the mass exodus. There were caravans and Brahmin right outside these "civilians," and then the Brotherhood formed a protective ring around it all. It was a lot of people, so maybe moving deliberately was a good idea.

He was sitting on a Brahmin himself, with the nice Paladin walking next to him. Paladin Kodiak had taken his helmet off, and was carrying it in the crook of his arm. He looked up towards Shaun, who averted his eyes. Kodiak chuckled.

"It isn't that polite to stare, kiddo. If you got questions, go ahead and ask. I don't bite." He said.

"Um…Do you know Elder Maxson?" Shaun asked. Kodiak chuckled.

"Yeah, I know the Elder a bit. He's an interesting cat. Definitely a lot more mercurial than Elder Lyons was. Owyn Lyons, that is."

"He know you?" Shaun asked.

"Yeah, he does." Kodiak said, scratching his beard and smiling. "I mean, I don't cross paths too much with the guy, seeing as he's busy with the politics of being the Elder and I'm just a regular soldier. But yeah, he knows me. He keeps me on the most important missions."

"Like this one?"

"Like this one." Kodiak said.

"I have another question, if that's okay." Shaun asked. Kodiak looked up at the kid and grinned.

"Of course it's okay. Otherwise I'm gonna have nothing to do but walk. You talk, and it gets me talking and not thinking about how much my feet will hurt by the end of this." He said.

"What's that on your armor?"

"My Paladin emblem?"

"No, the writing."

"Oh…" Kodiak looked at it. "A little personal message." He smiled. "I figured writing something in big bold letters on my chest would make the bad guys run. Because there can't be anything crazier than a man who would willingly highlight a portion of his armor. That's just _nuts!_ "

"What are grubs?"

"My enemies." Kodiak said with a smirk. "I let 'em know what I think of 'em, and then they get got." He looked at Shaun. "Uh, don't tell your dad that I'm so into my job. He'd accuse me of corrupting you."

"My uncle Cait likes boxing, cousin MacCready brags about how good of a sniper he is, and Strong can crush a man with his bare hands. I'm used to violence, Mr. Paladin sir."

Kodiak could only laugh in disbelief. This was some kid.

"And what's the writing on your shoulder?"

At this, Kodiak's smile faded.

"That's…a tribute message."

"For whom?"

"I was part of a Lion's pack."

"What's a lion?"

"A brave and mighty creature." Kodiak said, looking up to the sky. "The king of the beasts, and yet noble too."

"What lion pack were you in?"

"Technically, a pack of lions is called a 'pride,' kiddo. And there were more than a couple of us."

"Where are they now?" Shaun asked.

Kodiak paused for a long time.

"I'm the only one left, kiddo."

"Oh…"

"Yeah…" Kodiak said. "I wrote this message on my shoulder as a way to remember them, and to promise them that I'm gonna be strong."

"Do you miss your friends, Mr. Kodiak?"

"Every day, kiddo."

Sensing the depression that Kodiak seemed to be sinking into, Shaun changed topics.

"So if the Lion was the most proud creature in the Brotherhood, what was the most dangerous?"

Kodiak looked nervous for a moment. And then he looked Shaun in the eye.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah!" Shaun said with excitement. Kodiak looked back and forth.

"Promise to keep it a secret?"

"Of course!"

Kodiak leaned forward, and Shaun bent over so that he might whisper in the boy's ear.

"The most dangerous animal in the Brotherhood…was the wolf."

…

The sun had set. There was a last vestige of light and color across the landscape, but it would be dark soon. There were floodlights in the airport, but soon those would be the only lights on outside. And the place would be locked down for the night. It was tighter than a drum.

The group was sitting out on the hill just beyond the airport. It was deadly silent. Some of them were fidgeting, looking at either the monster amongst them…or the woman who was sitting off to the side. She had not spoken to any of them. One of the people turned around towards the group.

"What's the plan?" He asked.

"Simple." Another said. "We sneak in, sabotage some equipment. We destroy some documents, and then we cover our exit with some cover fire from the big guy here."

"Really?" The Super Mutant asked, nonplussed. "This is the best plan that you could come up with?"

"It's the Brotherhood, man!" One of the Railroad agents snapped back. "We can't just sneak in there and expect to shake mountains and quake the earth. You have to take these things slow."

Fawkes looked at the Railroad agent, and then his friends. And then he sighed, closing his eyes.

"And we had such high hopes for you."

"What do you mean?" The agent asked. "What are you-" He turned around, and gawked. "Where did she go?"

They all looked around in shock, and then back at Fawkes. He shrugged.

"She does that."

…

Every step was silent, little more than a whisper in the night. The wind was gently rustling what little greenery that grew around the ruined earth. She pulled the bandana up over her lips and nose, and pulled the goggles down so that her eyes were covered. She would be unrecognizable to any of them.

Perhaps that would help her calm her violent rage, and prevent her from murdering everyone in that goddamned airport.

Like leeches, all of them. Latching onto the Commonwealth like they did in the Capital, promising that they came in peace but really gearing up for colonization and exploitation. Her time with them had only showed how deep the rot went. It was only the force of personality that Owyn Lyons and his daughter commanded that had prevented the Brotherhood from embracing their darker impulses.

An image of a brilliant smile, of altruistic and genuine kindness with golden hair to match, filled her mind. She blinked once, pressing her eyelids hard together in an effort to squeeze off the tears. No. It would not do to mourn now. Mourning proper could come later.

Now it was time for work.

She had read their little reports. She had analyzed the intelligence that they had gathered on the Brotherhood. It was amateurish, but it was better than nothing. Most of the questions she had were already answered; she just needed a rudimentary second opinion to confirm it. The Brotherhood had gotten worse. Maxson was still in charge.

Maxson…

She saw red, and then blinked again. She made her way up to the wall of the airport defense line, and sunk deep into the dark grass. The spotlight passed over her and back, and never once did it freeze on her position.

She was one with the dark.

She continued moving through the airfield, years of training and hunting all culminating in this expedition. She hid down behind a Vertibird, and quietly listened to a pair of Knights that were out on patrol.

"God, this rain never lets up, does it?"

"At least it isn't rad-rain."

"Why is the Elder making us drill at this time of day?"

"Since he started fraternizing with those country bumpkins that call themselves the Minutemen."

"I know…that General wouldn't be so high and mighty if he had my laser rifle at his face."

She knelt back, taking it all in. In only a few sentences, they had revealed so much. Even if Maxson was playing nice with these so-called "Minutemen," there were still plenty in the rank and file that were brainwashed into thinking that the Brotherhood's "traditional" methods were the only way for peace to reign in the world.

Peace under a jackboot.

She knew who these "Minutemen" were. They were the ones that had come to rescue the robot detective from the Muties and the Raiders. She'd done their job for them, after all. They were honorable, and their so-called "artillery" was definitely mighty. But if the Brotherhood wanted to, they could unleash hell with-

…No.

She saw the massive figure wired into the superconductors, and swore angrily.

The motherfuckers rebuilt _Liberty Prime?_

At least in the aftermath of Raven Rock she had cause for hope: the destruction of that mobile apocalypse had meant that future brotherhood missions were far more nuanced and tactical. Those were the kinds of mission that she felt good about. Those were the ones that she remembered why she'd been a Brotherhood Knight, then Paladin, and then Sentinel in the first place. But now they'd rebuilt it. And with it back in the picture, that meant that they might…

No. She mustn't get too far ahead of herself. But she now had a new mission. Far more than just reconning the strength of the Brotherhood in this Commonwealth. Now there was something more…personal.

She waited for the patrol to go back in the direction that it came from, and with the skill of a Deathclaw stalking prey she slipped through the shadows to get to the hangar. There would be more lights in those buildings. But there were still shadows in which to hide.

…

She waited for the doors to open, and buttonhooked inside the metal enclosure right behind a marching Brotherhood squad. It was now the dead of night. The kind of time and place that allowed darkness to reign…and imagination to run wild.

She was hiding in the corner, behind piles of crates and ammunition boxes. There were two Brotherhood initiates that were in the center of the room. Rookies. Good.

"You hear about Liberty's latest power malfunction?" One asked.

"Yeah." The other side. "The Doc is pissed, or so I heard. She and the Proctor got into a screaming match about it. From what I saw, it wasn't either of their faults: Liberty just had some old circuits. It isn't a surprise that he might be a little shaky at times."

"How do you know that?"

"I'm an engie. Tinkerer. Before I joined the Brotherhood I was part of Rivet City in the Capital Wasteland. Had to work on the turrets all the time."

She reached into her pocket, and drew out a small gun magazine. It was empty, but it would still be loud enough.

She tossed it down the line.

"You hear that?" One asked.

"Yeah."

"What do you think?" The first one asked.

"Late at night, outside of hours, and a suspicious noise? Let's go check it out together."

And so they went off in the opposite direction. She looked up to the ceiling, and her heart skipped a beat in a rare burst of excitement.

Rafters. Rafters…and windows.

…

She scurried up to the top of the room, and concealed herself in the rafers and the shadows. And not a moment too soon, as a small group of people entered the room.

A very important group of people.

"And why is Liberty Prime acting up?" Proctor Quinlan asked.

"A fuse shortage." Proctor Ingram grumbled. "Something that I could have noticed if I'd had more time to test."

"We needed a proper diagnostic test." The woman in a lab coat replied huffily. Her hair was greying, and there were a few wrinkles in her cheeks, but other than that…she hadn't changed in ten years.

"We _would_ have had that if not for your incessant need to hit deadlines."

"Deadlines are important, Ingram. Something I guess you weren't concerned with when you were the sole director of the Liberty Prime proje-"

" _Enough._ "

She had to resist the feeling of shock as she heard that voice. The last time she'd seen him, he was reading one of her old Grognak the Barbarian comics. And there he was, right in the middle of them all. He was pretty tall, and he had a nice haircut. A very well-trimmed beard, but the kind that was clearly an effort of a young man to appear older than he was. But the flight jacket was exquisite. She hadn't worn anything that nice in…well, ever.

"I am confused why my co-directors of the Liberty Prime project are arguing over something that even an Initiate would have noticed." Arthur Maxson growled. "There are _far_ more important things to worry about. Such as the fact that as we speak, a contingent of the Onyx Guard is about to enter the Glowing Sea with the Minutemen General in order to retrieve an Institute scientist that may or may not be dead. I am more concerned with their progress than I am about basic maintenance issues that can be fixed without bruising egos over something so _pointless._ " He said. He looked at the two arguing scientists. "Deal with the problem. Figure out what to do so it doesn't happen again, and then apologize to each other and move on. You're grown adults for God's sake. It's high time the two of you acted like it."

She felt a bit of warmth in her heart. He might not realize it, but there were traces of the Old Man in him yet.

"Elder, about my initiative…"

And soon that warmth was replaced by indescribable rage.

"Proctor Teagan, I thought I made it very clear that while feeding the Brotherhood is necessary, I will _not_ resort to extorting the citizens of the Commonwealth to do so." Elder Maxson said. "Find out a way to work with Kessler in Bunker Hill or even the Mayor's office of Goodneighbor. But I don't want to hear about it again. Am I clear?"

"…Transparently." Teagan muttered. Maxson looked at all of them.

"Dismissed. Doctor Li, to my office. I will join you in a moment…I need some coffee if I need to deal with you people." He walked off, rubbing his temples in exhaustion and annoyance.

She watched them go their separate ways, taking note of each. And then she faded into the shadows.

…

Dr. Madison Li opened the door to the office, and sighed. It was dark, because she'd been an idiot and forgot to keep the light on for Elder Maxson. Now she'd start to get tired, and she had no time to be tired. Neither did the Elder. There was work to be done. She turned around to close the door behind her, and hit the light switch. And then she turned around.

She nearly fainted in fright.

It had been ten years. She was covered in dirt and grime and all sorts of unmentionable wasteland garbage, and her clothing was tattered and torn. And her hair was a mess of dreadlocks and ribbons stuck in it. But those eyes…there was no forgetting those eyes.

They were James'.

"…Lucy?" She managed to sputter in shock.

"Hello Dr. Li."

Her face was expressionless, and her voice was almost a growl. Dr. Li wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to do something… _anything_ to get her out of the room. A thunderstrike in the distance. It was going to be a radrain storm soon.

"What-I…you…what are you doing here? _How_ did you get in here?"

"I came down the chimney." Lucy said, her bored expression unchanging.

"Lucy this…you're a _murderer!_ I should…I should _**scream!**_ " Dr. Li hissed in anger and fright.

And then the anger gave way to the fear as the woman in the chair casually raised a massive pistol and aimed it right between the doctor's eyes.

"I'm no murderer." Lucy said. "But that changes if you make a noise." She turned off the safety for good measure.

Dr. Li took a deep and shaky breath.

"What do you want?" She asked.

"The Codex."

"…What?" Dr. Li stammered in shock. "Why? What do you need with a rulebook?"

"Not that one." Lucy said. Her eyes narrowed, and Dr. Li felt herself sweating bullets. "The Proctors'. The Elder's. The Black Book."

"I…I don't have the clearance for that information!" Dr. Li said. Lucy shrugged.

"Then you're of no use to me." She raised the gun.

"Wait!" Dr. Li whimpered. Lucy lowered the gun and raised her eyebrow.

"I…I don't have the clearance." Dr. Li said slowly. "But anyone in the High Circle would have it."

Lucy nodded. She looked down at the small telephone on the desk. Dr. Li knew that stare of concentration.

It was the most frightening aspect of Lucy Martel.

…

He sighed, trying to resist the urge to bash his head against the wall. The coffeemaker had been a gift from Goodneighbor, but it was faulty. Much like everything in this damned base. Sometimes he wished that he just could hide up on the Prydwen forever, but Nathanael was insistent that every now and then he get his boots dirty on the ground. He supposed that it made sense, but the childish part of him enjoyed the thought of being in the sky forever. At least it would put some distance between himself, and the arguments of Dr. Li and Proctor Ingram.

He filled his mug of coffee, and took a sip. He was going to enjoy a moment to himself, and then Dr. Li could pester him about the costs of maintaining Liberty Prime.

And then he noticed the blinking red light on the desk.

They'd returned power to the service phone system in the airport, and it had served as a handy method of getting in touch across the base without sending runners all the time. But still, the light was blinking and he reached for it on instinct. Maybe he could enjoy the stammering of some rookie out by the Vertibird field as he realized that he was talking to the grumpy Elder on a coffee break.

"This had better be important." He growled into the phone.

" _Hello Artie._ "

His blood ran cold. He heard a shattering noise: it was the coffee cup that had slipped out of his now-limp hand. His mouth went dry. He opened and closed his mouth a few times silently, but could not get the words out.

" _Surprised to hear from me? What, did your death squads assure you that I was gone?_ "

"…Lucy." Maxson finally managed to spit out. It was his worst nightmare come to life. The most dangerous woman in the world, and she was nearby. She might even be the room with him. He looked around behind him.

" _I'm not in the room with you._ "

"I knew that."

" _No you didn't. Getting the drop on you was easy. It was the one thing that Sarah and I never could quite get through to you._ "

"How _dare_ you bring up her name-"

" _Who do you think you're talking to?_ " Lucy asked, her voice ice-cold. " _And who do you think you are, lecturing me on whether I should feel sorry or not about her death?_ "

"You **murdered** her!" Maxson shouted.

The line was silent for a moment. Maxson wondered if she'd hung up.

" _…Is that what they told you?_ " Lucy's voice was expressionless. " _Is that what the story is? That I murdered Sarah Lyons?_ "

Maxson stayed silent, seething in rage at the memory of her funeral. It had been closed casket. How dare Sarah Lyons be treated with such disrespect-

" _If that's the story, then you're just as naïve as you were when you shot her in training._ "

Ignoring his hate-strike rising, Maxson took a deep breath.

"What do you want?" He asked.

" _To talk._ _Though that's rather hard, considering you have me pegged for shooting on sight._ "

"I can put a moratorium on that." Maxson said. "You just want to talk? Fine. I'll talk to you. I want to hear it from you. I want to know why you killed her. I want to hear that from your own lips, and hear your justification for killing the woman I loved."

There was another pause.

" _Where are you right now?_ "

Maxson was thrown for a loop.

"…What?"

" _Where. Are. You. Right now?_ "

"I'm…in my office." Maxson said. "In the airport hangar."

There was another pause.

" _…I doubt that._ "

"Why would you doubt that?"

" _If you were in your office right now we'd be having this conversation face to face._ "

He left the receiver hanging as he ran.

He raced down the hallway, shouting for all available units to join him. A few Knights saw their frantic Elder and raced after him, their weapons drawn in support. He drew his pistol, and kicked open the door to his office. He brandished his weapon, frantically pointing it back and forth.

Nothing.

Dr. Li was curled up in a ball in the corner, sobbing hysterically. One of the Knights knelt next to her, and began to console her. As one of the other Knights started to organize a search party to sweep the perimeter and put the base on high alert, Elder Maxson walked over to his desk.

Everything that had been sitting on the desktop, even the linen cloth, had been swept off and onto the ground. The desk drawers were all forced open, and the contents emptied out onto the floor. But as he got closer, he saw that was writing on the desktop surface.

It was hard to make out, as it had clearly been scratched into the surface with a sharp edge. No doubt a combat knife.

He squinted to read the words, and as he did he felt his heart sink. For carved deep into the wooden desk read the words

 **NOWHERE IS SAFE**

A/N: So apparently Lucy Martel is a cross between Batman and Corvo Attano. She could walk into your most private inner sanctum and filch your most prized possession, only to prove that she could have killed you too, if she wanted.

Also, Kodiak from Fallout 3 returns! Easily one of my favorite characters from that game. Figured as a man in his thirties (assuming he's young twenties in FO3), he's seen a lot of stuff…but still retains some warmth. Especially with kids. He knows how important it is for kids to be safe, considering his rotten childhood in the Pitt prior to being rescued by the Brotherhood. Also, he has a beard now and a nasty scar on his forehead. Because no one survives over ten years in the Capital Wasteland without picking up _some_ battle damage.

See you next time! And I hope this one was worth the weight


	8. …But Not Her Nature

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

There was a lot about the Glowing Sea that was scary. The fact that there were massive Stingwings casually roosting just inside its boundaries, the fact that the Deathclaws seemed to be bigger and meaner than the ones out in the Commonwealth, the fact that there was a Children of Atom enclave in the middle of the blast zone and yet _none_ of them seemed to suffer from rad poisoning…and yet above all things, the thing that kept Nate on edge the most in the Glowing Sea was the silence.

It was dead quiet. There was the howling of the wind and storming somewhere in the distance, but where they were marching…there was no ambient noise. No birds. No sounds of life. Just…quiet.

" _Anyone else getting the heebie jeebies?_ " One of the Brotherhood soldiers asked, his voice warbled a little bit through the helmet's speaker.

" _No one asked you, Jenkins._ " One of the six soldiers carrying the X-01 power armor grunted.

" _I know._ _I just figured I'd make some small talk as we march through hell on earth._ " Jenkins said. His armor was shiny and new; he was clearly proud of the fact that this was one of his first missions out in the Commonwealth.

" _You consider this hell on earth?_ " Asked another Brotherhood soldier.

" _Well, maybe not._ " Jenkins admitted. " _I'd say walking through Teagan's mess hall is hell on earth._ "

" _I'd say running errands for Proctor Quinlan is hell on earth._ " Another soldier said.

" _Really?_ " Jenkins asked, the mirth clear in his voice. " _I would have to imagine that this is way worse than that._ "

" _Could be worse. You could actually be carrying this heavy pile of metal for a guy that we don't actually know is alive or not, while keeping your weapon clipped to your hip, and if a Deathclaw or something like that pops up, your only hope is in the weapon ability of a chatty Cathy who's not watching the line!_ "

" _That hurts, Willis. That's hurtful."_

 _"General?_ " One of the Brotherhood soldiers turned towards Nate. Nate looked over.

" _Yeah?_ "

" _Permission to speak, sir?_ "

" _I'm not a Brotherhood agent, soldier._ "

" _True. But you're technically the ranking military authority here. Permission to speak?_ "

" _Go ahead._ " Nate said, trying not to smile.

" _We've been marching for about two hours, sir."_

 _"That we have._ "

" _Meanwhile, we've got Dog Team lounging in Goodneighbor, and Echo Team gets to be the security detail for that Institute trial. I heard they're even selling tickets to the trial like it's some kind of sport. Meanwhile, here we are, as Fox Company, marching our way through hell on earth to pick up a guy that may or may not actually be dead. And that's not counting the fact that Fox Team was the front line between here and Quincy, and the fact that before_ _ **that**_ _we were on the frontline wiping out the Enclave in the Capital. My question, sir: Why are our superiors constantly sending Fox Team out to the shit detail?_ "

" _What's your name, trooper?"_ Nate asked.

" _Randleman, sir._ "

" _And what is your rank?"_

 _"Knight, sir."_

" _Why do_ _ **you**_ _think Fox Team is sent out on these so-called 'shit' details, Knight Randleman?"_

" _…Because Elder Maxson hates us, sir._ "

There was a pause. And then Nate spoke.

" _Elder Maxson does not hate Fox Team, Knight Randleman. He just hates you._ "

Everyone, even Randleman, had to chuckle at that one.

And as they marched deeper and deeper into the Glowing Sea, Nate knew that keeping up spirits was almost as important as finding Dr. Virgil.

Assuming he was still alive.

…

It was just after noon. It had been a relatively boring day in the Castle. That meant that, without the worries of… _hijinks_ …Danse was able to get his paperwork done early. That meant that he had time to enjoy himself. Believe it or not, he was capable of such a thing. Even if the others didn't believe him or called bullshit (the latter was more of a Cait thing), Danse was capable of unwinding.

And as he sat on the wall of the Castle, facing towards the inside of the structures and the honeycomb of activity, he knew that all that mattered was whether he personally enjoyed his time off. The tobacco in his pipe was particularly sweet today, and he intended to enjoy it without interruptions.

"Oy. Fusspot."

And yet clearly the universe conspired against him.

"What do you want, Cait?" He asked, not even looking up. He wasn't going to dignify her with a response. He heard a clinking noise, and knew that she had found some sort of alcohol in the storage that hadn't been locked away with express "Under no circumstances give to Cait" orders to the quartermaster.

"Hey, don't be like that. I just come over here ta make small talk and I got ya bitchin' at me? That ain't very nice, fusspot. More fusspot than usual."

Danse smiled.

"What's so funny?"

He looked up at her, the pipe clenched in his teeth.

"It's just…'fusspot' is an inherently funny word, and the more you say it, the harder it is not to laugh."

Cait just gawked at Danse.

"Okay, how drunk are ya, Danse?"

"I don't drink, Cait. We've established that."

She sat down next to him. They watched as the many Minutemen on station were going about their duties in the base. And then they saw that Piper was sitting on the battlements over on the far end of the Castle, scribbling away in her journal. Cait wrinkled her nose.

"Does she ever fuckin' stop?"

"I'll admit, Piper's studiousness to the _Publick_ can be a bit…worrisome." Danse said. "On one hand, it's because of her dedication that the paper is now going outside of Diamond City's borders and into the hands of some of the local settlements. But on the other hand…"

"…She's runnin' herself ragged." Cait said. "She's got her sister, and that old fart working on the press."

"Who, Jethro?" Danse asked, smirking. "I think he might be the first man in history to officially retire from the Minutemen and become a full-time civilian. He was always pretty good at mechanical stuff. I'm sure he's good with the printing press." He tapped his chin in thought. "Though I've checked the books. Piper and the _Publick_ are profiting enough that she could probably hire another salaried reporter to split the load."

"She ain't gonna part with it. Her ego's too damned big to share credit."

"Well, she's going to have to." Danse said, somewhat sternly. Cait chuckled.

"And who's going to tell her that? You?"

Danse started to talk, and then floundered.

"I…doubt that she'd listen to me. Insults might also be a potential outcome."

"You know what I like about you, fusspot? You're self-aware." Cait said. She looked over at Piper, who was currently interviewing one of the Minutemen for her typical 'week at the Castle' write-ups that she put in the Sunday edition of the _Publick_. And then she smirked. "Besides, you and I both know that the only person she'd listen to is schlepping it through the Glowing Sea right now."

"Piper does have an affinity for what the General says." Danse said, taking a puff from his pipe and staring out introspectively towards the front of the gate. Cait stared at him, and then at Piper. And then she smacked him upside the head.

"Ah! What was that for?" He asked.

"You know, for someone who is really, really good at figuring things out, you can be so blind, fusspot."

…

Isabel wiped the grim off of her face, and sighed. It was kind of quiet when Shaun wasn't around. She missed having him there: the kid was able to keep up with her whenever she started going off on one of her little tangents about robots, and was able to help her revise and fine-tune even the hardest of programming jobs.

But maybe most of all, she never felt like Shaun judged her for what she'd been a part of. She wasn't sure that Shaun knew; maybe his dad had told him. But no matter what, Shaun still treated her like a friend. And having a friend and stability in her life was…it was a nice comfort.

"I have to say, a lady that knows her way around some elbow grease and wires is gonna get far in the wastes."

Isabel gave a squeak of shock, and nearly dropped the control console for the robot construct module. She turned in the direction of the voice, and fought the urge to blush. A young man was leaning against one of the artillery pieces, his arms crossed across his chest and a smirk on his lips. He was wearing a brown longcoat and a flat hat with…was that a clip of bullets in the brim? Okay, maybe this cute guy was a bit more dangerous than she thought. He saw her look, and winked.

"I think that I'm a little too old for you, sweetheart. Not that I'm not flattered but…I'm afraid my heart belongs to someone else."

"Who…who are you?"

"Robert MacCready. But no one calls me Robert, and I hate 'Mac.' So I guess MacCready will do in a pinch." He scratched his chin in thought. "I can't say that I recognize your face, though. What's your name?"

"Isabel…Cruz." Isabel said. She furrowed her brow, and then a light went on in her head. "Oh! You're Cousin MacCready, then?"

"Good grief, has the kid already adopted me as family? I'm touched." MacCready chuckled. He pulled out a cigarette, and quick lit it. He took a puff, and then blew the smoke out through his nose. "Cruz…you're that new pick-up from the Mechanist's factory, right?"

"…Yeah." Isabel said.

"It's alright, kiddo. The Mechanist is dead. And Isabel lives. Not a bad trade-off for the boss, huh?"

"Oh…right." Isabel said. And then she raised an eyebrow. "You're the best sharpshooter in the Minutemen…so I've heard."

"You've heard right." MacCready said, very pleased with himself.

"Well…then why haven't you been at the Castle for the past couple of months?"

"I've been busy helping stabilize Salem." MacCready said. "I've been on loan for the Salem Volunteer Militia for a while now. Got a week off, and I figured I'd come back to see my friends for a bit. That, and get a break from Barney's constant yelping about Reba I and Reba II…" He looked around. "Things seem a bit busier around here! And a lot more stable. Makes me feel better about bringing my son up to the Commonwealth."

"Where's your son?" Isabel asked.

"Getting treatment in the Capital Wasteland." MacCready said. "As soon as he's healthy, he's on the first caravan up here. Figured if I'm gonna put down roots, might as well do it in the place that's stabilizing, and not in the Capital Wasteland." He chuckled. "But I'm getting distracted. You know where the General is?"

"He…left." Isabel said. "He'll probably be back in a day or two. He went to the Glowing Sea…"

"And you think he'll come back? That's pretty bold of you." MacCready said. He saw her expression and laughed. "Relax. Of course he'll come back. The only question is if he brings back a roasted Deathclaw or not."

"…Has he before?"

"Yup! It was pretty tough, too. Nearly bit my head off on reflex…" MacCready said. He smirked. "Man, you're too easy to pull a fast one on, Cruz. You gotta relax a bit."

"You shouldn't be playing so many jokes on me!" Isabel protested. MacCready smiled.

"Well, if I've been inducted into the family, then I guess I gotta fill the role of the obnoxious older cousin, right?" He winked. "Anyway, I gotta go see that tin can Danse about pay. I'll catch you later, Isabel." He doffed his cap in a rather gentlemanly fashion, and walked off.

Isabel had become the Mechanist out of a desire to help the Commonwealth, as well as the hope that she could make people like her. If only in that "fear and awe" sort of appreciation. But coming to the Castle gave her a chance to actually make some friends. Or at the very least, they were nice people.

And that was better, to be honest.

Though she had to admit, one of these days she was going to ask the General (whenever she got the courage!) if he really _was_ the Silver Shroud. Because the man that had talked her down was far different than the man that interacted with her at the Castle on a day-to-day basis. At least, she thought so.

Unless that was all part of his secret identity plan?

…

Elder Maxson sat at his desk, drumming his fingers along the mahogany surface. There was a tense, awkward silence. He was staring bullet holes at the wall, but there was no hardness to his stare. As far as Proctor Ingram could tell, his look wasn't one of anger. It was one of…well, she wouldn't go so far as to say fear. She respected Arthur far too much for that. But he had not been the same since last night.

"Was I wrong, Marie?" He asked.

Proctor Ingram was thrown for a loop. For starters, his voice had been so small that she'd barely heard it. But more importantly, the Elder had used her first name. He never used her first name. As far as she had known, he hadn't even _known_ her first name.

"Wrong about what, sir?" She asked. He looked up at her.

"Lucy was like the sister that I never had. I learned so much from her. She was always someone I could talk to. I…I don't know." He sighed, and shook his head. And then he looked up at her. "Was I wrong to put out that death order on her?"

Proctor Ingram looked around, and then shut the door behind her. She looked back at the Elder.

"Are you doubting your own decree, sir?"

"I don't know." Elder Maxson said. "All I know is that nothing makes sense anymore. It was all so…simple when I was a boy. I was brought before the Proctor's council, and they told me that Lucy murdered Sarah. And that was that. And yet now…" He trailed off again.

"What's bothering you, sir?" Ingram asked.

"For the love of god, please don't call me that right now." Elder Maxson said. "I need someone who isn't a sycophant or a yes-man. I need a friend right now. Those are in such short supply."

Proctor Ingram huffed.

"I hardly think that my record suggests I'm a yes-man, Arthur. If anything, I've been the one most at odds with your decisions from the get-go."

"And that's why I've trusted your judgment over the others." Maxson said. "Because you're the only one of the Proctor's Council that wasn't a part of it when…when I found out that day. It gives you an outsider's perspective, and that's something I desperately need."

"What are you getting at, sir?" Proctor Ingram asked again. It was moments like these she wished she wasn't in her power armor suit: it allowed for more discretion. And yet her ruined legs were just that: ruined.

"Lucy was my greatest friend but…but she murdered Sarah. The only woman I've ever loved. And…" Elder Maxson sighed. And then he looked to Proctor Ingram. "I feel like I'm missing the bigger picture here. There must be a reason why she did it. There has to be. I refuse to accept that Sarah was murdered because of a…monstrous choice by someone that we both cared for. I won't accept it. I…" He buried his head in his hand, and rubbed his brow. And then he looked up at Proctor Ingram. "I need you to do something for me."

"What, Arthur?" Proctor Ingram asked.

"I need you to gather everything that we have on the death of Sarah Lyons. I want the official report. I want the witness testimony of Proctor Teagan. I want everything."

"What do you mean every-"

" _EVERYTHING!"_ Elder Maxson suddenly roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "I want to know exactly what happened that day. I want to know why she did what she did. I want to know how it happened. I want to know how many soldiers were on that op. I want to know what the op was _for._ I want to know why both Sentinels of the Brotherhood were assigned to the same mission. I want to know why they were given a _joint_ command. I want to know when Sarah was killed, and how long it took. I want to know what happened to the other soldiers. I want to know why. _Why._ And then I'll know."

"You'll know what, sir?" Proctor Ingram asked.

The glare she got from him was unnerving.

"Then I'll know whether I have to kill Lucy myself."

…

Diamond City was awfully bright. The wall was high up into the air, covering up everything that could be seen from the inside but…Shaun could tell that the inside of that massive wall was bright and shiny. He must have had his mouth slightly agape, because he heard Paladin Kodiak chuckling.

"Never seen the Jewel of the Commonwealth before, kiddo?" He asked.

"No…" Shaun admitted with a slightly star-struck tone. Kodiak kept smiling.

"It's quite the sight, I gotta say. Reminds me of a better functioning Rivet City, to be honest. Though not as shiny as New Vegas."

"What's New Vegas?"

"It's this big ol' city on the other side of the country. I've never been there, but there are a few Mojave transfers that managed to get across The Divide, braved Flyover Country, and then make their way out here to the east. Supposedly it's even brighter and nicer than anything over here."

"Does the Brotherhood control it?"

"No…No, the Brotherhood is a little bit weak out there, if I remember right." Kodiak tapped his chin in thought. "It's…well, it's kind of complicated how they structure themselves out there. I don't know if you'd be able to follow."

"Mr. Kodiak, sir, I can build robots from scratch and I'm learning molecular biology. I'm 11. I think I can handle a little bit of political confusion."

Kodiak looked up at Shaun, who was sitting on the Brahmin with a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face. Kodiak could only chuckle and shake his head.

"You really are something, aren't you?"

"I want to change the Commonwealth so that it's a better place, Mr. Kodiak. I want to know everything I can so that I can help people."

"We need more kids like that…" Kodiak muttered. He looked over to the wall, watching as one of the Brotherhood soldiers at the front of the caravan walked up to the entrance of the city and began discussing with the guard the way that everyone was going to get into the city. "Okay, so…New Vegas. What do you wanna know, again?"

"Just who's in charge, if not the Brotherhood." Shaun asked. Kodiak scratched his beard.

"Well, there's definitely a Brotherhood unit out there, but they haven't exactly been taking recruits as far as I know. I know that out to the west there's this government called the New California Republic, and they were occupying New Vegas, which is supposedly this big energy hub and source of trade and all that. And in the middle of their occupation, they were fighting a war against Caesar's Legion."

"So they were occupying it the way the Brotherhood is occupying Goodneighbor?"

"Sort of." Kodiak said. "They had a bigger presence there than we do in Goodneighbor. They were there because they'd helped defend the city from an initial attack, but there was a security detail in New Vegas so things weren't desperate. I guess. But anyway, there was another battle for the future of New Vegas I wanna say five…six years ago? And it was a coalition battle. The NCR had a bunch of people helping it beat the Legion, and then the Legion got battered to the point of giving it up."

"So the NCR took over New Vegas, then?" Shaun asked.

" _That's_ where things get tricky." Kodiak said. "Right at that moment, all of a sudden New Vegas declared itself a free state: totally an ally of the NCR but _absolutely_ independent of the NCR's control. And it had the army to back itself up, so the NCR was sent back home to argue over whose fault it was that they'd let the city get the drop on them like that. Gotta say, it's pretty clever: wait for the NCR to tire itself out, and _then_ capitalize on your negotiating powers. I heard that the NCR general got threatened with being thrown off the Hoover Dam, which is…pretty high up. But he wasn't."

"So who orchestrated that?" Shaun asked. "Who's leading New Vegas now?"

"I don't know his name, but he's got a couple of nicknames out there. The big one I know is 'The New Mr. Vegas.' He's also called 'The Courier,' because that was his old job before he became the ruler of New Vegas. Think about that: he goes from a glorified paperboy to leading one of the strongest and most stable states in the Wasteland. Hell of an argument for social mobility."

"Do you know anything about him? Is he…bad?" Shaun asked.

"You'd have to ask some of the Scribes, but from what I've heard he's not bad. He's good to his citizens, he's good to his allies, and he's good to traders and business. He's just… _weird._ And from what I've heard, he can be somewhat annoying. Pretty sure he does that just for his own amusement, though." 

_"_ I think I might be like that." Shaun said with a smile. "I'd like to be an annoying ruler who has fun."

"I think you'd be good at it." Kodiak said with a wink.

Then an explosion rocked the area.

"Contact!" Someone shouted. Immediately, a burst of gunfire began to pepper the caravan. Kodiak saw a veritable wave of people emerging from the south, hiding in buildings and behind cover. They were dressed in rags, or shambled armor, or even just straps of leather. But they all had two things in common: for one, all of them had red pain on their face. And two, they were all shouting the same thing.

" _QUINCY, MOTHERFUCKERRRS!"_

 _"_ Get the civilians inside!" Kodiak roared, putting on his helmet. The Brotherhood soldiers formed a protective wall with their armor, and began to return fire on the Quincy invaders. In the midst of the screaming and the panic, Kodiak took stock of the situation: they'd just attacked the outside of Diamond City. They'd never gone this far north before.

They were getting braver.

He didn't have his minigun on him, but the Chinese Assault Rifle he'd been carrying on his hip would do the trick. He opened fire, and watched as a pair of Quincy insurgents' heads exploded. He couldn't help but smirk. He was getting a bit old, but he wasn't losing his touch.

Finally, it was clear that the Quincy invaders were getting driven back from the gates. But that did not mean they'd retreat quietly.

"Molotovs!" Someone shouted. Kodiak and the Brotherhood soldiers took cover, and a series of fire explosions rained across the battlefield. And then, it was almost frighteningly quiet.

"Sound off!" Kodiak barked. "Did we lose anyone?"

"Got a wounded initiate over here, sir! And one of the traders is dead!"

"Any of the Institute remnant?" Kodiak asked.

"Negative, sir. We got them all inside."

Kodiak wasn't sure that he was supposed to be relieved, considering what those people were capable of or being charged for, but it was their primary mission. And they had succeeded. Still, an attack this close to home? That was a sign that the Quincy Insurgency was getting serious. This trial needed to get started, and get taken care of soon. Otherwise they'd have an unwinnable war on their hands.

Wait…

"Shaun?" He shouted. "Shaun!" He looked around, and panic gripped his very core. " _WHERE'S THE KID?_ "

…

He knew he shouldn't have run, but he was afraid. The bullets had started cutting through the air, the Brahmin had been screaming, and it was terrifying. In that moment, he'd known that his dad was right: the Commonwealth wasn't irredeemable…but it was a dangerous place. And absolutely a dangerous place for a kid who had never seen anything like it before.

He'd been running for what seemed like several minutes now. There were still explosions in the background coming from the front of Diamond City. He hoped that Kodiak and the Brotherhood could save the people in there, but right now he was too scared to run back. What if he got shot in the crossfire? He didn't want the Brotherhood to get in trouble with his dad for something that _he_ did.

Wait, what was he thinking? He was running in the opposite direction into the _Commonwealth._ That wasn't a better choice. He turned around and began to run back.

"Wellllll, wellllll, welllll."

Shaun froze.

He'd clearly made a terrible mistake. Here he was, standing out in a town square, and there was no escape. And a group of ugly and large men and women in assorted armor were walking out into the open, cutting off his escape. At the center of them all was this thin-faced man with long blonde hair and a bit of scruff on his cheeks. He leered at Shaun, a little grin on his face.

"What have we _here?_ " He asked. He looked around at his friends. "Looks like we got ourselves a kid on the wrong side of the tracks, huh boys?"

The others all chuckled. Ignoring the wild beating of his heart, Shaun stood firm.

"I'm not afraid of you!" He said. The man in the middle just chuckled.

"Afraid of ol' Bullet? Now why would you be afraid of me? I'm not a bad guy. I'm your friend, kiddo. These other guys though…they're not so nice." He smiled. It wasn't a pleasant sight. One of the bigger men leaned against the plywood wall of one of the buildings in the square, his rifle trained at Shaun.

"I…I mean it!" Shaun said. At this, the entire crew of Quincy raiders chuckled. Bullet stared at Shaun, his smile fading.

"Really? Cuz that's kind of stupid, kiddo. You really _should_ be afraid of me." He said. He looked over at the others. "What do you think, boys? Slavery or target practice?"

"Slavery!"

"Target practice!"

Both choices were thrown out in the air, and it was imposible to tell who had said what. Bullet just chuckled.

"Well, he does have a pretty little mouth on him, and I wouldn't mind seeing it in action…" He tapped his chin in thought. "But on the other side, I'm kinda pissed that we were sent on that bullshit mission to Diamond City just to get ground up, so I need to work off some stress." He raised his pistol and pointed it at Shaun. "Tell ya what, kiddo. Give you a five second head-start. Start running. I could use practice on a moving target."

Shaun stood still.

"One."

He wouldn't.

"Two."

He couldn't.

"Three."

What a terrible mistake he'd made. He should have just stayed by Kodiak.

"Four."

But if nothing else, he would die in a way that would make his father proud. As a man. And on his feet.

Bullet gawked a bit, raising an eyebrow.

"You really wanna be a martyr, boy?" He asked. And then his expression hardened. "So be it. _FIVE!_ "

There was a terrible crash and a scream.

Everyone turned around to see that the a pair of arms had punched through the thin plywood wall that the one raider had been leaning against, grabbed the man by the neck, and yanked him back through the wall, breaking the wood and causing the raider to disappear into the darkness. Giving a cry of shock, Bullet and his gang opened fire into the dark.

"Cease fire, cease fire!" Bullet snapped. He looked over at Shaun. "Don't you move, boy." He turned towards the hole where there had been a wall. "Well, I gotta say, you're a pretty slick cat. Got the drop on ol' Bullet here. You even managed to get Griggs! That's impressive. But the show's over. Why don't you come on out so that we can give you the dignity of a fair death in the sun, hmm?"

Silence. Bullet rolled his eyes.

"Why do they always play so hard to get?" He asked. "Okay, you asked for it. Now we're gonna-"

 _Whish_ CRACK.

" _YEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"_

It sounded like a whip being snapped, like it had coiled around something and was pulling. Shaun watched as one of the raiders was literally knocked off of her feet, as if someone had grabbed her by the ankle and pulled back. And then he watched as she was literally dragged towards the nearby alley, clawing and screaming at the ground. The others turned to fire at whatever it was that had grabbed their friend by the ankle, by they couldn't hit it. She was pulled screaming into the alley…and then it went quiet.

Bullet was sweating his namesake. He turned around, looking for wherever their next attack would come from. He wiped his forehead, and then took a deep breath.

"O…okay! Show's over! We're willing to talk like gentlemen. You can come out with your hands up and-"

At that moment, the head of the raider next to him exploded.

"SHIT!" Bullet shouted. He and his remaining friends started to run for cover in the nearby building. Shaun took this next moment to dive for cover behind an old mailbox. His timing was perfect, as not a second sooner he heard a massive explosion.

And then screams.

Scattered gunfire.

The sounds of bones being broken.

More screams.

A gurgling noise.

Wailing.

The sound of punches and kicks.

Guttural growls.

The sound of dead bodies hitting the ground.

And then it went quiet, save for the sound of heavy breathing.

Daring to peek around the corner, Shaun saw that Bullet was crawling on the ground. His face was bloodied, his eye was swelling shut, and his leg was bent at an awkward angle. He rolled over onto his back, and looked in the direction of the wraith that was tormenting him.

"Look…we can…we can make a deal. I got…a kid over by there that way. You…you let me go and I'll give him to ya! You can even keep the profits for selling him all to-"

A single gunshot through the face, and Bullet went down.

Shaun held his breath. He got a glance at whoever it was that had finished them all off.

Only for the figure to look in his direction.

Gasping, Shaun hid back behind the mailbox. He heard walking steps, but it sounded like they were going in another direction. He dared to exhale, and then looked over towards the other side of the mailbox.

And let out a scream as he saw the figure was now kneeling right next to him.

She put her hand over his mouth, cutting off his scream. And that was all that she did. She looked terrifying, like a sort of dusty, muddied and feral creature. But her eyes…they were soft and pained. It was enough to make Shaun stop screaming.

Gently, she removed her hand from his mouth. They stared at each other for a few moments, and then she pulled down the red scarf that had covered her mouth. And then she held out her hand, beckoning for him to take it.

"Come with me if you want to live."

A/N: Lucy Martel has been willing to do many things in her quest…but she will never allow a child to be hurt. Not on her watch.

Also, if you'd like a visual of what Lucy's fighting style is like…picture that it's Bane from The Dark Knight Rises. Nothing flashy, and nothing over the top…but god _damn_ does every strike look clinical and like they hurt like a mofo.


	9. Through Smokescreens

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Get away from me!"

This was not going well.

"Brian, we need to talk."

"No! Fuck you! How _dare_ you show your face to me after…after what you've done! You're lucky that I don't just sic my turrets on you right now! In fact, I have half a mind to do that to you anyway!"

By the grace of a god that he wasn't sure whether or not existed, Nate had led that detachment of Brotherhood soldiers deep into the depths of the Glowing Sea, and they had reached the cave that Dr. Brian Virgil had made his impromptu home. The last time that Nate had seen the good doctor, he had just accomplished what had been thought to be impossible: he had reversed the FEV that had transformed him into a Super Mutant, and was once again a human. And now here they were, again, in the laboratory that Dr. Virgil had considered his new home, and the good doctor was alive.

But he wasn't at all happy. Unsurprising, really.

"Doctor, we need to talk. We can't skip around what needs to be said."

"What needs to be said? _What needs to be said?_ You **destroyed** the Institute! I wanted you to get them to see the truth, not…not _kill_ them all! What makes you any better than them, by just blowing them up?" Dr. Virgil was haggard and his eyes were puffy. If anything, it was clear that he had been crying. Nate was surprised that the doctor had even known the fate of the Institute…only to see the operational radio on his desk. Somehow, impossibly, Travis Lonely Miles was able to get his signal in to the depths of the Glowing Sea. That was pretty miraculous.

It was also a bit of a nuisance, at least in this situation. And Nate was getting tired and cranky. The longer they spent in this hole, the more likely it was that the entire group would be spotted by some monstrous Deathclaw that was looking for a new dinner. So he decided to cut to the chase.

"What did you expect?" He asked. "What did you honestly expect to happen when you gave me that information, Brian?" Nate stared him in the eye. "You left that place because you no longer believed in what they were doing. _You_ clearly didn't think that anything was going to change. You knew that they were set in their ways. And you knew what my motivation was: I wanted to save my son, no matter what the cost."

"Whatever the cost? Innocents died!" Dr. Virgil shouted.

"And what about the innocent lives over the years that the Institute terrorized in the name of scientific progress?" Nate fired right back. "War is war, Dr. Virgil! And the first casualty in war is innocence. If the Institute didn't want to bring a war to their door, they shouldn't have been kidnapping people! I did what I had to do. No matter the cost."

"And what was that worth?" Dr. Virgil sneered. "Did you decide to trade my family for your own? Did you find your son?"

"I did, and it was _FATHER!_ " Nate roared. The color seemed to drain from Dr. Virgil's face. "Yeah. Your boss? He was my kid. The Institute kidnapped my son, and then raised him into their leader, who ended up being the architect of the Commonwealth's misery for _decades._ So don't you dare lecture me on whether or not destroying the Institute hurt me. Because it hurt me far worse than anything it did to you: there may have been people that you knew that are no longer around. But I literally had to destroy everything that my own flesh and blood created. I got no reconciliation, I received no closure, and he died cursing me. I never got to hear the words 'I love you' from my own son. And every night I wonder what things would have been like if it was all different." He paused. "And for the record, I hit the evacuation order. There were a _lot_ of people that got out, because I took the time to save those that I could."

Dr. Virgil took a deep breath. He balanced himself against his workbench to steady himself.

"What…what happens next, then? Where are my friends? Where are the others?"

"They're safe in Diamond City." Nate said. "But they're not in friendly territory. The Commonwealth citizens aren't happy with them. They want to go on trial."

"But that's madness!" Dr. Virgil said. "There won't be a single objective soul in the Commonwealth that sits on the jury! Or serves as the judge! You might as well have lined them up against a wall; in fact, that would have been far better for them than this!"

"It's not hopeless." Nate said. "That's where you come in."

"…What?" Dr. Virgil asked. He was shell-shocked.

"The Commonwealth citizens are going to see the Institute all as one big monstrous blob of evil. They're going to want to see a swift and sweeping punishment, like an act of God…but you and I both know that that isn't what the truth was, was it?" Nate walked over, and sat down next to Dr. Virgil. Unlike the last ten minutes, Dr. Virgil hadn't responded by cursing him out or throwing things at him. "There were people that had no idea what was going on. And there were people that were the orchestrators of everything that made you want to run away. Weren't there?" Nate asked.

Dr. Virgil stared at the wall for a moment. And he spoke.

"…Yeah." He admitted.

"And don't you think that the Commonwealth should know the distinction? Would you be okay with, say, the janitor or his kids getting the same punishment as whomever told you to work on the FEV experiments? As the person that had the Coursers going out into the Commonwealth and killing people for no good reason?" Nate asked. "Do they deserve the same punishment?"

"No. They don't deserve any punishment. They were innocent! But those that were culpable…the ones that made me want to leave…they're…" Dr. Virgil trailed off. Nate clapped his arm around Dr. Virgil's shoulder.

"You know that something needs to be done."

"I do." Dr. Virgil said. "I shudder to think what the Commonwealth citizens might do to, say, Lillian Garcia. She was a teenager when I ran. Great with radio communications and robots. Had absolutely no idea what some of them were being used for. She doesn't deserve a death sentence."

"Then come with me. I will get you out of the Glowing Sea…but I need you as a character witness for the trial. I need you to be there to tell people the truth, and tell them everything that may or may not have happened. You were involved, because you kept asking questions. And then you ran. You can do what is necessary, and you can help me save those that must be saved. And punish those that need to be brought to justice."

"That's a fine speech." Dr. Virgil said. "Except for the fact that I don't have a drop of FEV in me anymore. If I go out in that atomic wasteland, I'll fry. And I don't suppose you have a spare set of that power armor that you're carrying around?"

Nate grinned.

"Funny you should ask…"

…

Inside Diamond City it was a hectic mess. While the Diamond City security took to defending the perimeter, it was up to the Brotherhood of Steel soldiers (and the on-site Minutemen) to herd the Institute Remnant into their living grounds: much to the objection of Abbot, the area in front of the Wall was converted into a sort of tent city for the Remnant, where they would live in between days for the inevitable trial. From his position in his office, Mayor Pitt watched the controlled chaos below. He took a puff from his cigar, and turned towards Geneva.

"Any word on the prosecutor from Vault 81 yet?"

"She'll be here tomorrow, sir." Geneva said.

"Good." Pitt said. "Considering the Quincy boys decided to bum-rush us today out of the blue, the last thing that I want to think about is the possibility that everything else is going to be thrown off schedule." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what is taking the Elder and General so long, but they have got to get Quincy under control. That was the closest they've come to actually hurting us…ever. And next time they might get lucky."

There was a dinging noise, signaling the mayor's private elevator. Willie turned towards it.

"Did you summon someone, Geneva?" He asked.

The door to the elevator opened, and a Brotherhood soldier staggered through the doorway. His armor was painted and nicked up, the clear sign of a veteran of combat, but he was clearly panicked.

"You the mayor?" He asked.

"That's me." Pitt said. "Whom do I have the pleasure?"

"Paladin Kodiak, sir." Kodiak said. "We got a problem."

"I can see that, son." Pitt said, despite the fact that he knew this man had at least ten years on him. "We got dinged up by the Quincy boys a few moments ago. If you were at the lead of the defense, then I think you should be commended. You held them off without doing any real damage."

"I deserve to be shot." Kodiak said. "Because we have a serious problem."

"What's the deal?" Pitt asked. Kodiak gave a long look over at Geneva. Willie picked up at the cue.

"Geneva, do you mind if you leave us for a moment?" He asked. She nodded, and swiftly left the room.

"Okay, what's the problem?" Willie asked. Kodiak took a deep breath.

"The General's son is MIA."

Mayor Pitt nearly choked on his cigar.

"You _lost_ the General of the Minutemen's _kid?_ " He asked, flabbergasted. "How did this happen?"

"In the firefight he must have panicked and run. It's understandable for a kid but…" Kodiak trailed off. Mayor Pitt rubbed his forehead.

"Does anyone else know?"

"A few of my soldiers, but they're sworn to secrecy. I don't want there to be a mass panic. And if the Quincy boys took him, I don't want them to realize that they've got a precious cargo or leverage over the General. We have to find the kid. Shaun. I promised Shaun I'd look after him, and I failed."

"Well, he couldn't have gone far." Pitt said. "Kids like that don't sprint; they pick somewhere close and dig in." He rubbed his forehead again. "This is serious shit, man."

"You don't have to tell me." Kodiak said. "I'm the one that lost him."

"Well, Quincy would be making a big deal out of it if they'd picked up a kid in the middle of their retreat. Their leader is a twisted fuck like that." Willie said. He rubbed his hands together, keeping his cigar clenched in his teeth. "I don't think they've got him yet."

"The Commonwealth could have taken him." Kodiak said.

"Call it crazy intuition, but I don't think so." Pitt said. "And I certainly don't think that we need to spread the word on this. We _can't._ "

"Are you advocating we hide this from the General?" Kodiak asked, flabbergasted.

"Not at all." Pitt said. "I'm saying that we find his fucking kid before he gets back from the Glowing fucking Sea."

"…That is a better course of action." Kodiak said. "How do we handle this, then? Should we hire your private investigator, the Synth?"

"No." Pitt said. "We hire Valentine, and everyone is going to know what's up. We need someone who is good, but is absolutely discrete about his or her methods. And is someone that knows the kid well, if possible." His eyebrows raised. "I think I know someone." He walked over to his door, and opened it towards Geneva. "Geneva! Get me a runner to the Castle."

…

The sun was starting to set over the horizon. The Prydwen was a hive of activity, as it was always at this time of day. Even though there was no likelihood of an attack, Lancer-Captain Kells preferred to keep the ship on a raised degree of alert at all times. Though his constant vigilance was somewhat annoying for the younger ranking members (and certainly more than a few in the higher ranks), at the end of the day it made the Prydwen the most secure location in the Commonwealth, with the possible exception of the Castle on full lockdown.

Scribe Haylen walked down the hallways, her boots clacking on the metallic floor. She was nervous, even though she knew that she had no reason to be. Why would she have to be nervous? All she was doing was meeting the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel…who had requested her presence. Without giving her a reason. Yeah. There was no way that he was going to fire her out of a cannon or anything, right?

Right…

She stood outside the doorway to the Elder's personal office on the Prydwen. She'd never actually been to this part of the ship before. She'd been to Lancer-Captain Kells' office once, when she'd accepted her commission as a scribe in the Brotherhood, and he'd briefed her on the nature of the ship. But that was a rare occurrence: if she'd been called up there again, she suspected that her ass would have been grass. And yet here she was at the door of the Elder's office. It was the quintuple whammy: He was her boss, he was utterly terrifying, he was distractingly good-looking, he was unaccepting of anything less than total success in anything, and he was about as humorless as a Deathclaw.

…Oh god. She didn't say that third one out loud, did she? No. Good.

Sighing, she knocked on the door.

"Enter!"A voice that was decidedly not the Elder's shouted. She pressed the button, and the door opened up.

The piles of paperwork were the first things that she noticed. They were in bundles on the Elder's desk, and some of them were strewn on his desk as well. Then she noticed a map on the floor. It wasn't _really_ a map: rather just a rough scratching of someplace that didn't look like the Commonwealth. There were also small figurines on the ground too, at different points of the map.

The voice that had let her in belonged to-

"Paladin Brandis?" Scribe Haylen squeaked out in surprise. It was already a bit of a surprise that the Paladin had even returned to the Brotherhood after his disastrous mission throughout the Commonwealth, but the fact that he was even in the Elder's office was a bit of a shock. It was also a sign that whatever the hell was going on in here, it was something more than just a plan to fire her. Or maybe the Elder was all about elaborate stagings before he excommunicated people?

"You must be Scribe Haylen." Paladin Brandis said. He was a lot less haggard-looking than the day he'd been brought back by the General of the Minutemen: his hair was cut, and his beard was trimmed. He no longer looked like a wild man, and instead looked like a trusted and dignified member of the Brotherhood. He reached out his hand, and Haylen took it. She was shaking herself almost as much as she was his hand. "It's a pleasure to be working with you."

"Paladin, shut the door." Elder Maxson's voice came up from his desk, and Haylen saw that he was sitting at the chair, poring over one of the reports. He was actually wearing reading glasses, which made him look oddly studious. Haylen wondered just how many people in the world knew that the Elder needed reading glasses. Brandis chuckled, and then closed the door behind Haylen. She noticed that he had locked it.

There was silence. Elder Maxson was looking at the sheet of paper in his hand, and yet began to speak to Haylen without looking in her direction.

"Scribe Haylen, I suppose it comes as little surprise to you that what I am about to tell you is of Code One Priority, and to divulge to anyone the content of whatever you are told under these parameters is grounds for immediate excommunication from the Brotherhood and execution."

Okay. So much for things being no big deal. Say anything, and she gets killed. Great! And yet…

Paladin Brandis chuckled.

"Don't need to scare her, sir. She's a big girl, she can handle it."

"Right." Maxson said, still scouring the sheet of paper in his hands as if it was the map to the Holy Grail. "Scribe Haylen, what I am about to ask you is of utmost secrecy, and is something that is very important not only to the security of the Brotherhood of Steel, but also the security of the Commonwealth at large. Do you understand what I am asking you?"

"…Yes sir." Scribe Haylen said.

"Good." Elder Maxson finally looked up at her. "As of this moment, you are promoted to Special Assistant to the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. On the surface, your duties are to be my assistant for whatever I may need."

"Think of it as a glorifed gofer. You know: gofer this, gofer that…" Brandis said.

"I'm…guessing that this isn't what my real duties entail, sir?" Haylen asked. Maxson nodded.

"You're going to be working with myself and Paladin Brandis, as well as Proctor Ingram on a very important project."

"…No offense sir, but…why me?" Haylen asked. "Why wouldn't you pick someone higher up in the ranks? I'm just a scribe."

"I remember you from the peace talks." Elder Maxson said. "Your write-up was tactful, objective, and most importantly without bias. You managed to convey to the Brotherhood masses the ins and outs of the deal with the Minutemen in a way that made it clear that we were not weakening ourselves. I spent some time looking into you, Haylen: you come with high recommendations from your former officers, and quite frankly I need someone that isn't entrenched in the Brotherhood hierarchy for what I want taken care of."

"And don't look at me like I'm part of the old guard." Brandis said with a chuckle. "I was in the field most of my career. Might have made Proctor if I tried playing politics. But I didn't, and I won't, so I won't go any higher than Paladin."

"Ok." Haylen said. "So…what do you need from me on this 'secret mission,' sir?" She asked. Elder Maxson looked at her with complete seriousness.

"Scribe Haylen, it is our goal to reconstruct the day that Elder Sarah Lyons was killed."

There was a pause.

"Might want to close your jaw or a fly might buzz in." Brandis said to Haylen. She closed her mouth, and sputtered a bit.

"What…what is there to know? She was murdered by Sentinel Martel, right?" Haylen asked.

"What do you think?" Elder Maxson asked. She recognized that he was not asking her to toe the party line; he wanted her honest opinion. So Haylen took a deep breath.

"Sir, I joined the Brotherhood partly because of the stories that I'd heard of Elder Lyons. I thought…I thought that she was a hero. Even after her death, I thought that if I patterned myself after her, I could help do good through the will of the Brotherhood. And naturally, being a fangirl of the Elder, I read up on everything that I'd ever heard about her…including her friendship with Sentinel Martel. They seemed so close. A true and deep friendship…and I guess…I guess I wasn't sure how or why Sentinel Martel would murder Elder Lyons. I guess it didn't make sense to me."

There was a long pause.

"It has never made sense to me either." Elder Maxson said. "And I want to know what happened. Because Sentinel Martel is in the Commonwealth."

Scribe Haylen felt a stab of fear in her heart.

"…What?" She asked.

"Late last night, Sentinel Martel broke into the Boston Airport, and briefly took Dr. Madison Li as a hostage." Paladin Brandis said. "And yet when we went to capture her, not only was she gone…she had not harmed the doctor nor taken anything of value. She left a message on the desk: 'nowhere is safe.' That's…dramatic…but it isn't her usual M.O." He cleared his throat. "I actually worked with the Sentinel at least twice before the fateful day: she was all about discretion. The only time that she went…theatrical was when she wanted to send a message. There was Paradise Falls, and now this."

"I don't think Lucy came to kill Dr. Li." Elder Maxson said. "I think she came to get my attention. About _what_ I don't know. Because she taunted me when I accused her of the murder."

"And you think that she didn't do it?" Scribe Haylen asked.

There was an even longer silence.

"I…don't know." Elder Maxson said. "I no longer believe that it was a premeditated murder. I think that it was more likely a spur of the moment killing. Perhaps brought on by an argument? A traumatic trigger on the part of the Sentinel? I don't know. Because as it stands, I am detecting inconsistencies and…holes in the initial battlefield write-ups. But I don't know. That's why I have you here, Scribe: you know the ins and outs of how these things are written. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes can catch something that mine can't."

He handed her the official report, and then gestured to the map on the floor.

"Based on the reports and eyewitness testimony from Proctor Teagan, who was not at that rank back then, we're trying to reconstruct the exact way that it all went down." Paladin Brandis said. "And from there, we make our conclusion: whether we need to carry out the original order, or…perhaps open up negotiation."

"But so far it's been nothing but disappointment." Maxson said. "And I don't know where to begin."

Scribe Haylen prided herself on her reading speed: it was part of what made her better than most at being a scribe. And as she read through the official report, she didn't notice anything out of the norm herself. Then she turned towards the witness statement, and the description of the wounds.

"Elder?" Her hands were shaking slightly.

"What?" He replied. Scribe Haylen looked up at her.

"Do you have a copy of the coroner's report on Elder Lyons' body?" Scribe Haylen asked.

"Right here." Elder Maxson gestured to a piece of paper on the desk. Scribe Haylen walked over, and placed the official report on the desk next to the coroner's report. Brandis and Maxson crowded around next to her.

"Sir, this is an odd request, but…do you think there's a copy of what weapons everyone was carrying for that mission?"

"It's likely." Elder Maxson said. "If I recall correctly, Senior Scribe Rothchild was fastidious about recording every last bit of equipment logged for missions. Tech was scarce in the Commonwealth, and we didn't want to lose anything." Elder Maxson reached through some of the unopened bundles, and selected one. He leafed through it, and pulled out a packet. "We really need to start electronically recording some of this data." He grumbled.

"It adds character, sir." Paladin Brandis said with a little grin. "And everyone loves the smell of old paper, right?"

"This should be it." Elder Maxson said, pulling out the corresponding folio. Scribe Haylen scanned it, and then laid it down next to the coroner's report, the witness account, and the official account of the incident.

"See that?" Scribe Haylen asked. She tapped the sheet of paper. And then traced her finger to the corresponding portions of each document together.

Paladin Brandis and Elder Maxson stared at the corresponding pieces of paper.

Brandis was the first one to speak.

"…Holy shit."

"Prepare me a Vertibird at once." Elder Maxson said. "We need to go to the Castle. I need to tell Nate."

A/N: …Cliffhanger. XD

Also, I have a poll up on my profile! Be sure to go and vote!


	10. Decision Points

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on. On another note, I take a GRRM level of sadistic delight in how pissed you all were by last chapter's cliffhanger. Also, **be sure to vote in the poll on my profile! We literally have a tie at the top, and 48 hours from now I will consider the poll CLOSED.**

The first thing that MacCready noted about the request from that runner was how non-specific it was. Usually, when he was asked to do something, it was the kind of thing that had at least two different bodies involved in its approval. He was the most sought-after mercenary (he preferred the term "freelancer") in the entire Commonwealth, and as a result he'd accepted contracts from the Brotherhood of Steel, the Minutemen, the city of Goodneighbor, and even the Railroad (though they hadn't reached out to him much lately). He made sure that they were on the up-and-up, though. He wouldn't be able to look Duncan in the eye if he started to dip back into the ambiguous deals that had paid well but made Lucy cry and his stomach turn.

Which is why it had been a bit unnerving when the runner had found him in the Castle and simply said: "You're requested by the mayor of Diamond City. Come immediately." And then the guy had left, and MacCready had barely the time to grab his essential equipment before chasing after the moron.

As he stood on the high-rise elevator that led up to the mayor's office, MacCready took a moment to think things through. He didn't know much (if anything) about the new mayor of Diamond City, but the boss hadn't said anything bad about him. And Hancock said that the guy could certainly hold his liquor. MacCready wasn't sure that was a good sign of leadership, but then again Hancock did enough drugs to tranquilize a grown Deathclaw and _he_ never seemed to suffer from it. Damned lucky ghoul.

MacCready stepped off the elevator, and opened the door to the secretary's office. He noticed that the lady behind the desk was blonde and pretty easy on the eyes. He smirked.

"'Scuse me, ma'am." He said. She looked up. He noticed her eyes widen slightly, and resisted the urge to smirk even more. Apparently he still got it.

"Can I help you, hon?" She asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, I got a call to come to the Mayor's Office."

"Well, lots of people get called to the mayor's office, honey." The secretary said, leaning over her desk a bit, her chin in her hand. "Got a name?"

"MacCready."

It was like a magic spell. Her smile faded, and she sat back up straight.

'Oh…yeah. Yes, the mayor would like to see you immediately."

"Thank you. Miss…?" MacCready trailed off.

"Geneva." But the woman was back to typing on her terminal, and she paid him no more attention. MacCready wondered what the hell it was that he'd done to make her so scared, but figured that the mayor was going to answer that one way or another. He opened the door to the office and walked in.

Almost immediately, he was struck by the sight of several Brotherhood soldiers in the office. The man that he assumed was Mayor Pitt was sitting at his desk, smoking what looked to be at least his third cigar, if the piled-up ashtray was any indication. He looked up at MacCready, and the young freelancer could see the bags under the man's eyes.

"You MacCready?"

"That's me, chief." MacCready said, trying to smile so as to lighten the mood. "You rang?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Mayor Pitt said. The Brotherhood solider standing next to him, the one with the beard, stared at MacCready and cocked his head to the side.

"Wait…MacCready. Is your name Robert, by any chance?"

"Yeah. What's it to you, chief?" MacCready asked. The Brotherhood soldier chuckled.

"Oh, nothing. I just seem to remember you calling me a half-mungo the last time I saw you."

And then it clicked in MacCready's mind.

"Kodiak?" MacCready asked. "Jesus, is that you?"

"I know I'm a little older and longer in the tooth, but it's still me: that clean-cut kid that you and the others at Little Lamplight enjoyed throwing mushrooms at." Kodiak said. "Nice to see that you've matured from being a snot-nosed mayor to being a snot-nosed mercenary."

"Hey! I resent that." MacCready said. "I'm a _freelancer._ "

"Okay." Kodiak said with a thin smile. It was clear that something was bothering him. And bothering the others.

"Well, clearly you guys didn't bring me here to reminisce with old friends and the like." MacCready said. "What's the deal? Who do I need to kill?"

"Not kill. Find." Mayor Pitt said. "The General's son is MIA."

MacCready felt a little weak at the knees.

"…Shaun?"

"During the exchange of the Institute prisoners into Diamond City, the Quincy Insurgency launched an attack." Paladin Kodiak said. "While the attack was repelled, the General's son…was lost in the shuffle."

"Are you _shitting_ me?" MacCready snarled. "You…you _lost Shaun?_ Do you have…he's _eleven!_ He doesn't know what the hell to do out in the Commonwealth…I…I don't think that he's ever even left the Castle since the Institute was destroyed! And you couldn't defend him I…holy _shit,_ Nate is going to _**skin**_ you two!" He said, pointing to both Kodiak and Mayor Pitt.

"Which is why we need you to help us find him!" Mayor Pitt said. "You are the best tracker in the Commonwealth, MacCready. I know your reputation. And I know that you know the boy well. You're the only hope that we have in tracking him down…or at least what's left of him-"

"What's _left of him?_ " MacCready roared, banging his fist on the desk. He noticed that Mayor Pitt didn't flinch. "You think he's dead already? Then what's the _**fucking**_ point?"

" _Who do you think you're talking to?_ " Mayor Pitt snarled, and in that moment MacCready realized that he was not yelling at a young boy who had lucked into his current position but rather at a man who would make the abyss blink before he did. "How _dare_ you suggest that I've lost hope. Hope is the very reason that I'm hiring you, and _not_ Nick Valentine. Because when the public hears that Nick is on the case, they expect the worst! With you…you can keep things quiet. No one will notice when you do your digging. And you can either find Shaun or find evidence of Shaun before his father returns from the Glowing Sea…which, of course, is _also_ no guarantee." He took a deep breath. "Paladin Kodiak is going to lead you out to the area where he last saw Shaun. From there, do whatever you wish, but you have to find us either proof of life or…whatever else you might find."

MacCready stared at Mayor Pitt, and then coldly nodded. He walked towards the door, with Kodiak at his heels. But then he turned around.

"Oh, and for the record? Nate isn't just going to come back from the Glowing Sea with Dr. Virgil. He's going to come back without a scratch on him, and he's going to be tired and pissed. So for your sake, you'd better hope that today is one of my better days."

He stormed off.

…

It was a brisk twilight as the group stood out in front of the city. MacCready stood in the center of the battlefield remnant. He looked around, and then back at Paladin Kodiak.

"So they attacked you from where?"

"It felt like from all sides, but they came from the south and to the southwest of the city." Kodiak said, pointing in the direction of fallen bodies and chars from explosions. "We pushed them back after about…I want to say five minutes' worth of fighting. Tops."

"Okay." MacCready said. He started to look towards the ground at their feet. He looked for footprints, shell casings, and blood trails. Anything that might stand out. But then he noticed something. "There..." He muttered to himself, wandering in the direction of what he'd spotted. Kodiak noticed where he was going, and motioned for the Brotherhood soldiers to follow him.

Kodiak kept to the path he'd spotted. They were shoe prints, but they weren't the type that showed up in the Commonwealth. They were softer, they were…smaller. Like the kind that a kid might wear as he was wandering about his day-to-day life in the Castle, free from combat and the like.

…

Kodiak and the Brotherhood soldiers were so busy following MacCready that they barely noticed him frantically motion for them to freeze. They looked to what had gotten him so spooked, and they all slowly began to draw their weapons.

There were several corpses out in the square. And in the middle of them, lazily gnawing on the leg of one of the corpses, was a Deathclaw.

A fully-grown Deathclaw.

As the Brotherhood soldiers all drew their weapons, one of them turned off his safety. The click was loud.

The Deathclaw jerked its head up.

For a few moments, there was a tense silence. The Deathclaw eyed up the new entrants to its territory with some degree of anger and confusion. It seemed to be weighing its options. On one hand, there were a lot of those little tinny creatures and one squishy creature with them.

On the other hand, it was a fully-grown Deathclaw.

Evidently, it got over its confusion. It let out a roar and bared its claws and teeth.

There was a bang.

The Deathclaw went rigid, like a cold shiver had gone through its body. Kodiak wondered what the hell had happened, until he saw the Deathclaw's face. There was a jet of blood spurting from one of its eyes, which was now a gaping gunshot wound. The Deathclaw fell on its face, and went still. MacCready ejected the spent round from his rifle.

"They don't call me the best shot on the Eastern Seaboard for nothing…" He muttered to himself.

A few of the Brotherhood soldiers walked close to the Deathclaw corpse. They saw that the bullet had gone right through the Deathclaw's eye and had pierced its brain.

"Check for a pulse!" Kodiak shouted.

The Brotherhood soldiers proceeded to empty their guns on the Deathclaw's head, turning it into a pile of mush. As soon as they were finished, one of the Brotherhood soldiers looked up and gave a thumbs up.

"No pulse, sir!"

"Well, looks like this Deathclaw was having a hearty dinner." Kodiak said, looking at the corpses. "I imagine the food tastes better after you've killed it."

"It didn't kill them." MacCready said, looking at one of the bodies. "They've been dead…I wanna say about a day now." He looked over one of the bodies. "This guy got the worst of it. Took a shot right through the face. After he already got put through the ringer."

"So are we dealing with raiders?" Kodiak asked. "Quincy boys?"

"No." MacCready said. "These _are_ Quincy boys. I can tell because of the red paint that they've got smeared on their faces. And they're carrying weaponry that would be fitting the Quincys. I don't see any other bullets fired here except for the ones that came from their own guns. Almost like…" He trailed off.

"Like what?" Kodiak asked.

"…Like they were beaten to death." MacCready said. He looked at another body. "That guy got his shin broken by a stomp. And then he got his neck broken. And that one…"

"What do you see?" Kodiak asked. MacCready felt an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"…I feel like I recognize all of this. This…this feels familiar to me."

He looked back over at the dead man with the bullet hole in the head. He squinted in concentration, and began to look around. He saw all of the bullet shell casings on the ground, and began to scan each and every one of them.

And then he reached down and picked on up.

It was a big bullet. A rounded edge. The kind fired from a sidearm. A _big_ sidearm. Like…

…A Desert Eagle.

"…Lucy." He finally muttered to himself.

"What?" Kodiak asked.

"Lucy was here." MacCready said.

Kodiak blinked once in shock.

"…Sentinel Martel?" He asked. He put a hand to his mouth in shock. "She was here?"

"I can't for the life of me think of anyone else who would do all of this the way that it was done." MacCready said.

"But she…you don't think that she killed the General's son?" Kodiak asked.

MacCready turned to look at Kodiak.

"…Actually, I think that she saved him."

…

It was kind of dark in the house. The sun was starting to set, which meant that what little light was already starting to disappear, save for the small candle that had been lit in the center of the room. Shaun was sitting in a chair, looking over at the woman who was sitting by the window. She was staring out into the distance, a pistol resting on her lap. She'd brought him here to this house hours ago, and yet ever since they'd gotten there she hadn't said much of anything to him. Or much of anything period. She was just staring.

"Um…ma'am?" Shaun asked. "Are you okay?"

"Don't mind her." The deep and gravelly voice of the Super Mutant said. There was a stomping noise as he walked back into the room. He'd been outside foraging for food, and came back with a freshly killed molerat. He was a lot nicer than Strong, Shaun thought, and he was certainly a lot more talkative. Probably smarter too. "She tends to disappear off inside her head every now and then."

"Is it better in her head than out here?" Shaun asked. The Super Mutant looked at the boy sadly, and sighed.

"I am dubious of that, friend."

His name was Fawkes. It was a cool name. He looked a lot scarier than his name, but so far he hadn't done much of anything to scare Shaun. If anything, the Super Mutant seemed to be a bit of a softie.

"Why do you stay with her?" Shaun asked. Fawkes looked passive for a moment.

"I stay with her…" He said. "Because I fear what might happen to her if I left."

"I'm right here, you know."

It was the first time that she'd spoken since she'd picked Shaun up from that town square. It was somewhat jarring to hear her voice again. It was low and growly. If Curie was at one end of the spectrum, this lady was at the other side. Fawkes snorted, and reached into his bag for a knife. He began to skin the molerat.

"Hmph. I figured that talking about you in front of you might make you notice that we are no longer alone, friend. We _do_ have a guest, after all."

The woman grunted, but then turend so that she was looking straight at Shaun. In the dying light, her gaze was piercing and unnerving.

"I'm getting a vibe off of you." She finally said, looking right at Shaun. "You remind me of someone, in some sort of way."

"Who?" Shaun asked.

"…Harkness. For some reason." The woman said.

"Who was he?"

"You wouldn't know him." Fawkes said, putting the molerat on a stick over the fire. "He was an old acquaintance of ours. I fear that he was killed a few years ago, leading an expedition out to the west. Towards the Mojave, I think."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Shaun said. He looked over at Lucy. "Do you have a lot of friends?" He asked.

Silence.

"Well, can you at least tell me your name?" He asked.

She turned to look at him with an icy cold stare.

"Does it matter?" She asked. "Tomorrow we drop you off at that walled city, and then we're never going to see each other again."

"I doubt that." Shaun said. "I think you're more than that."

At this, the woman tilted her head to the side. Shaun thought she looked a little bit like Dogmeat, when the mutt was confused with something. He snickered a little bit.

"What's so funny?" She asked.

"Nothing it's…you just look like my dog."

She only seemed more confused.

"You are awfully talkative, little one." Fawkes said. He was absently rotating the molerat on the stick with one hand. With the other he had reached into his bag and pulled out a book. It was an old book by the look of it. Shaun couldn't make out the title. He wasn't sure, but in the dying light it seemed like the author's name was…"Dahl's Chickens"? What a silly name for an author.

"My…my dad tells me never to stop." Shaun admitted. "I like finding things out. And I like talking. So…I guess I talk."

"Are you close to your father, little one?" Fawkes asked, still reading and turning the meat but making it clear that he was listening to the boy. Shaun nodded.

"Yeah. My dad always looks out for me." He looked at the two of them. "Do you two work for him?"

At this, Fawkes and the woman exchanged a glance.

"We…don't really work for anyone these days." Fawkes said. "Not anymore." He noticed the growing panic in Shaun's eyes. "But relax, little one. We _are_ the good guys." He looked over at the woman with some degree of annoyance. "Even if our actions and outward appearance don't make that altogether clear."

The woman just sneered.

There was silence.

"You'll take me back to my father, right?" Shaun asked. "He'll be mad at me for not listening to him, but I think he'll be more happy that I'm safe." He looked around. And then he looked over at the woman. "Are you close to your father?"

It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. In a matter of miliseconds (Curie had taught him about those), the woman went from a frightening and feral being to…a broken-looking soul. Her expression softened in sorrow, and her eyes…they look haunted. She just managed to nod slowly, but then couldn't make eye contact.

"Her father…is no longer with us." Fawkes said, gently setting his book down. He looked about as sad as a Super Mutant could be. "He sacrificed himself so that she might escape from people that were trying to kill her. Because of him, she is still alive today."

Shaun stared at them for a moment. And then he spoke.

"My father would do the same thing for me, I think."

"Of course he would." The woman said. "He's your father. Family sticks together. Family is both the greatest source of pain and joy in our lives. If he's worth anything, then why wouldn't he save you?" There was a trace of frustration in her words, as though something was about to bubble over.

"Friend…" Fawkes said gently. "The boy doesn't understand the pain that is in you. There is no need to burden him with our troubles."

"With what?" Shaun asked. "My dad can probably help you."

At this, the woman scoffed.

"I doubt that." She said, once again staring off into the distance.

"Little one, my friend's pain comes from something that happened long ago. Perhaps before you were even born, depending on how old you are. And it involves the Brotherhood of Steel. You know of them, right?"

"Yeah, I do." Shaun said. "But I'm telling you, I think that my dad and Elder Maxson can help you!"

At this, the woman glared at Shaun.

"Really?" She sneered. " _Arthur Maxson_ can help me? Arthur fucking Maxson is the one that help me with this problem? It's _because_ of him that I'm where I am, kid. It's _because of him_ that I'm in so much pain. Because…because he's so…so…so fucking _blind!_ I…" She buried her head in her hands, and her shoulders started to shake. Before long, they could hear a muffled sobbing noise.

"Friend…" Fawkes began, but he trailed off. He didn't know what to say.

"Just leave me alone." She said through her arms. "Just…leave me."

"Now just one minute!" Fawkes growled. He stood upright, startling Shaun. "Friend, I have stuck with you for _ten years_ while we have searched for vengeance against Arthur Maxson for what you think he did. Think about that. Ten. _Years._ And never once have I complained. Never once have I questioned you. I have talked you off the ledge numerous times, in fact. I've had too many times where I've had to take the gun out of your hand because I was afraid of what you'd do!"

"Then why bother sticking with me?" She said. Her eyes were puffy and red.

"Because that's what friends _do!_ " Fawkes said. "No matter what happens, they weather the storm together! But think about it: how much closer are we to confronting Arthur for everything that happened than we were when you staggered into Megaton, battered and bloodied and nearly delirious with pain and grief? How much closer are we than we were as we fled through the eastern seaboard, crossing through Bawlmer and then up through the Pitt and Liberty City? After a certain point, maybe we need to stop outsmarting the truth and let it have its day!"

"The _truth?_ " The woman asked. "It's because of the _truth_ that I keep going, Fawkes!" She howled. "If it wasn't there, I'd have blown my brains out into the Potomac years ago!"

"And what truth is that, exactly?" Fakes questioned. "Because as the years have gone by, I don't think that you even remember what it is that you were going for anymore. Tell me: what truth is it that you seek to prove?"

" _THAT I DIDN'T MURDER SARAH!"_

The silence hanging over the room was deafening. Shaun had no idea what was going on, but knew that speaking now would be dumb. He was just a silent observer. And he knew that that was more important.

Fawkes stepped forward and gently pulled the woman into a hug. It was somewhat endearing to see something so massive holding someone that much smaller. And the woman wasn't exactly short: she looked about six feet tall. But Fawkes still had her by about a foot and a half.

"I know you didn't murder her. I've believed you then, and I believe you now." Fawkes said. "But after a certain point, we have to let it go, friend. I don't know if we can change things."

"I can help!"

They both turned to look at Shaun.

"I…I don't know what you're talking about when it comes to Sarah. Or who Sarah was…" Shaun shrugged. "Who was she?"

The woman looked off towards the stars, and sighed. She wiped a tear from her eye.

"She was someone dear to me, kid. That's all…that's all I can say right now."

Shaun looked at her. He wasn't that old, and didn't have yet what his father called "wordly wisdom" yet. But he wasn't stupid. And he knew in his heart that whatever it was that this woman was accused of, she hadn't done it. Or, at least, it hadn't gone down the way that the others had suggested it went down. He cleared his throat.

"Well…I'm going to bet that my dad is not going to be happy when he finds out that I'm missing. Especially with everything else that he has to worry about. I know that after he found the person that he was looking for, he was going to go to the Castle. And if you bring me there, not only will I tell my dad that you saved me, I'll tell him that you two brought me back there safely! And then Elder Maxson will have to listen to you." He said, quite proud.

Both Fawkes and the woman looked at each other, and raised an eyebrow.

"Little one, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, I don't think that the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel is going to listen to the pleas of a local farmer."

Shaun just stared at them.

"…A local farmer? Is that who you think my dad is?"

"Well, who is your father?" Fawkes asked. Shaun cleared his throat.

"My name is Shaun Greene, and my father's name is Nathanael Greene. He's the General of the Minutemen. He's the most powerful man in the Commonwealth, and the only person in the world that Elder Maxson respects. If my father wanted to start a war with the Brotherhood…I think that he could win. Because he's the reason that the Brotherhood signed that big peace deal with the Minutemen without going to war. He's smart and strong and brave, and he's a good person because he's my dad. And he'll listen to you two. And if _he'll_ listen to you, then I promise you that Elder Maxson will listen to you." Shaun finished.

There was another silence. And finally Fawkes spoke.

"That…is a frighteningly compelling argument from someone who is as young as you."

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean that I'm not smart!" Shaun said proudly. Fawkes and the woman looked at each other, and nodded. Fawkes nodded towards Shaun.

"Very well. We'll set out at the break of dawn. Where is this 'Castle' that you speak of?"

"It's on the coast." Shaun said. "You literally can't miss it. It's south of the Brotherhood ship."

"Oh yes!" Fawkes said. "Then we'll most likely arrive at high noon. You hear that, friend?" He turned to the woman. "No more running. It's time to finish this."

She looked at him, and nodded with resolution. And then she turned to Shaun.

"So…Shaun Greene, huh? That's a nice name."

Shaun smiled.

"Yeah! What's yours?"

The woman was quiet for a moment. She flitted her eyes off to the side. But then she looked him in the eye. And there was the faintest trace of a smile.

"Lucy. My name is Lucy…Martel." She paused, almost as if she was reminding herself of her own name and identity. And then she looked back at Shaun. "…Mm-hm. That's my name."

A/N: And we're starting to set the ending gears of _Zugzwang_ into motion! A few more chapters. Perhaps in the next chapter (or two) I'll reveal the title of the sequel. But either way, be sure to vote in the poll on my profile!

Till next time.


	11. It All Comes Apart

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

The first thing that Piper noticed was that there was a Vertibird coming towards the Castle. That was a little bit out of the norm, especially considering that it was coming from the Prydwen, and not from the Glowing Sea, which was where Blue was. But what made it absolutely out of the norm was that it wasn't the first Brotherhood contingent that had come to the Castle today.

That honor belonged to the group led by the rather jerk-faced man that was hassling poor Sheffield nearby the Castle crops.

"I'm telling you, mister Proctor sir, the Castle foodstock isn't really open for taking at the moment. I'd love to sell it to you, but right now it just isn't ready."

"How can it not be ready? When was the last time that the Castle was attacked? Should you people have plenty of time to grow food that is ready for packaging and transport by now?"

"Sir, with all due respect the Castle is responsible for the feeding of several settlements in addition to itself." Sheffield said, wiping his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. It was dirty, so he'd smeared some topsoil onto his forehead. "I can't just sign over the deal. You'd have to wait for the arrival of the General to do that."

"Isn't that your jurisdiction, farmer?" Proctor Teagan asked, folding his arms across his chest. Sheffield shrugged.

"Afraid I don't know what the word means, mister Proctor, but I'm telling you that without the General's approval, I can't just start shipping food out elsewhere. Even if the buyer is offering a high price. Which, by the way, you really aren't."

Piper watched Proctor Teagan visibly fume, and then storm off to another side of the Castle, no doubt to wait for Blue's return. She wasn't sure what he was so sure of; Blue had a soft spot for Sheffield ever since he'd given the homeless man a Nuka Cola and then a job at the Castle as the head of crop development. (Blue had told Sheffield that he was just the "main farmer," because there was no way that Sheffield would know what 'head of crop development' even meant) If Sheffield said no, then Blue was probably going to give him the benefit of the doubt. Sheffield wasn't the most learned man, but he wasn't stupid. And that was the sort of thing that Blue was always looking for when he put people in positions of power or influence. That, and whether or not they had a heart.

But then again, he'd appointed some rather unscrupulous people to watch the southern colonies, right around Quincy. And he'd been willing to let the Institute Remnant stand trial instead of just shooting them. And then he got away with lying to Elder Maxson about whether or not he knew that the Institute Remnant were running to the Castle to claim asylum. And then he'd claimed that Isabel Cruz was a victim of the Mechanist's insanity, which from a certain point of view was true. But not necessarily the right thing. Or was it?

Piper took it back. Probably the only thing for sure about Blue was that nothing was for sure.

…

"So you're sure?"

Mayor Pitt leaned over his desk, staring at the two men in front of him. They'd shooed out everyone other than the three of them. He looked over at Paladin Kodiak, and then at the freelancer MacCready.

"I'm positive." MacCready said. "I think that Shaun was picked up by Lucy Martel."

"…And who's Lucy Martel, again?" Mayor Pitt asked.

"Sentinel Martel is currently wanted for the murder of the former Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, Sarah Lyons." Kodiak said.

Willie Pitt stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, now I feel so much better about the fact that he's not in the hands of Quincy's leader." Pitt said, rolling his eyes. He shook his head, and re-lit his cigar. "What do I need to know about this Lucy Martel individual?"

"That she killed an Elder of the Brotherhood." Kodiak said. At this, MacCready looked over at Kodiak and sneered.

"Okay, chief, why don't you stop trumpeting the party line and speak from the heart. It isn't like we're gonna send this back to Elder Maxson, is it?"

Kodiak looked over at him and leered.

"Watch your tone, MacCready. Sarah Lyons was more than just the Elder of the Brotherhood; she was my former commanding officer. There are few in the world that I hold in as high esteem as I did Sarah."

"And Lucy was one of them."

Kodiak went silent. MacCready nodded, and kept pushing.

"Yeah, I might have been just a kid but I remember. I remember when I got sent to Big Town a little bit earlier than normal, and thinking that I was gonna get chewed up like the rest of them. Except I get there and Big Town isn't such a hellhole because there was a Brotherhood attachment there. That was one of your first individual commands, you know. And who was the patron of that endeavor?"

"…Sentinel Martel funded the garrison at Big Town, yes." Kodiak admitted.

"Think about that, chief. Lucy paid out of her own pocket the money that was needed to keep us teens and kids protected from whatever the fuck the Capital Wasteland wanted to throw at us. It's because of her and because of your stubbornness that that place isn't just a ghost town but one of the thriving communities in the Capital. Now tell me…" He leaned in. "Are you positive that someone who was willing to do all of that was the same person who was willing to blow the head off of the Elder of the Brotherhood?"

Kodiak was silent for a moment.

"I…am not sure." Kodiak said. "It was always a surprise to me when I heard the news."

"Not to interrupt you two from walking down memory lane, but we need to focus on the here and now." Pitt said. "We need to start checking the southern settlements to make sure that Quincy hasn't started secretly absorbing all of them while we were dicking around doing whatever the hell we were doing up here. And that's the kind of thing that needs to be reported to the Castle, because as great as Diamond City security is…we need _soldiers,_ not peacekeepers, and the Castle is the only place in the Commonwealth that makes them." He looked over at Kodiak. "What are your orders, precisely?"

"My orders were to deliver the Institute Remnant here to Diamond City in preparation for the trial." Kodiak said. "From there, I was to follow any orders that were given to me by the highest authority in Diamond City until I was recalled to the Prydwen by the Elder of the Brotherhood. As of yet, I have not received any such recall notices."

"So you're saying that I have you on retainer?" Willie Pitt asked.

"That is one way to describe it, but yes." Kodiak said.

"Good." Pitt said. The gears were already turning in his head. "I'm authorizing you to take a squad of soldiers and to do a brief recon towards the southern communities. Stop by Jamaica Plain and then radio in if you can. Don't enter the city if you think it's unsafe."

"And if Jamaica Plain is under the control of the Quincy boys?" Kodiak asked. Mayor Pitt sighed.

"Then high-tail it to the Castle and tell the General. And then we get ready for war. Taking Jamaica Plains would be a critical step-up in agressions; it basically blocks several trade routes to some of the southern communities."

"Understood." Kodiak said. He turned towards MacCready. "You should return to the Castle. From what I heard, if this Dr. Virgil is found, then he is to be taken to the Castle first. The General wants to make sure that he gets the best proper medical care after spending all of that time in the Glowing Sea."

At this, Mayor Pitt was somewhat miffed.

"Really?" He asked. "And what's wrong with the doctors that are here in Diamond City?"

"I don't have an issue with them myself." Kodiak said. "But apparently the doctors at the Castle are quite good. The best, perhaps."

"I'll attest to that." MacCready said. "Doc Fellows is a bit weird, but he's definitely the best I know. And Curie is a great nurse partner for him."

"Fine." Pitt said. "There's enough on my plate, I suppose. If the General wants the good doctor to be in the Castle, then let him be in the Castle. Just make sure that he gets here to Diamond City. The sooner we get this trial done, the better. I have a meeting with the prosecutor in a few minutes, anyway."

"Isn't that a bit unethical?" MacCready asked.

"Not at all." Mayor Pitt said. "She's operating as an arm of the state. I _am_ the State."

"And you're barely old enough to drink." MacCready said. "Alright, well be sure to make my funeral nice and pretty. Because the boss is gonna skin me on your behalf for losing Shaun." He looked over at Kodiak, and then at the Mayor, and then walked out the door.

After Kodiak left to prepare his men for the mission, Mayor Willie Pitt was left alone in his office. He stood there at the desk, and stared at the battered old structure. This was one of the few times that he'd managed to keep it clean. He doubted he would get many opportunities in the future.

There was a buzzing noise.

" _Mr. Mayor? The Vault 81 representative is here to see you now._ "

Mayor Pitt closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead with a sigh. It was time to go back to work. He pressed the button on his intercom response.

"Send her in."

…

It was a rather bright and quiet morning. Shaun looked around, and if he listened hard he could hear some of the less-irradiated birds chirping in the distance. That usually meant that there wasn't anything particularly dangerous out. At least right now.

But then again, the fact that he was flanked by two very dangerous-looking people on his left and right.

"I must say, mornings like these are somewhat enjoyable." Fawkes said. He was carrying a very large hunting rifle, the kind that Shaun had seen brought into the Castle armory many times in the past. Apparently they were a popular weapon choice for independent raiders and other crazies. They were crude weapons, but they were very effective at what they were assigned to do. It made sense that Fawkes would be carrying one. Meanwhile, his minigun was strapped on his back.

"I know, right?" Shaun asked, a big smile on his face. "Dad's usually pretty busy, but sometimes if I get up early enough I can catch him on the battlements of the Castle." Shaun said. "He's usually up there reading."

"You've mentioned this…Castle several times, young Shaun." Fawkes said. "If you don't mind me asking, what is it like?"

"Oh, it's _super_ cool." Shaun said. "It's like, this old fort from before all the bombs dropped, like back before the Wasteland was the Wasteland. It used to be the Minutemen stronghold for a while, but then the Minutemen fell apart…until my dad resurrected it and rebuilt the order."

"By himself?" Fawkes asked. "Your father did all of that?"

"Well, he can be modest and says that it was a team effort." Shaun said. "He said that Uncle Preston was responsible for telling him about the Minutemen and the things that they were all about. And then Miss Ronnie Shaw was the one that kept the sense of decorum for the Minutemen when it wasn't around anymore. And then it was Uncle Danse who helped him organize the ins and outs of things, managing the money and stuff like that. Putting together policy. It was a team effort, is what dad said…except that's all baloney, because my dad was the reason that all of those people got together and helped him rebuild the Minutemen. If it wasn't for him, all of those people wouldn't have gotten together."

"Sounds like a good man." Lucy said, though she was staring out ahead of them, as if scanning the horizon for any enemy, no matter how big or how small. Shaun smiled a wide grin.

"Oh, you guys would love him!" He said. "He's really smart and really nice. And he's got a great sense of humor. I think that's one of my favorite things about my dad: he is never afraid to laugh. And it makes me wanna laugh. And I think that he'd really like you."

"Aside from, you know, the fact that I'm wanted for murder." Lucy said.

"But you didn't do it!" Shaun said. "And the truth is gonna come out. I promise you that."

"Perhaps we should have had little Shaun with us on our journey over the years, friend." Fawkes said. "He's gotten you to say more in the past day or so than you have in the last few months." He was clearly enjoying the boy's company.

"Don't get used to it." Lucy said. But there was no denying the fact that she was starting to smile a little bit.

There was a snapping noise.

Immediately, Lucy dropped down to one knee, drawing her Desert Eagle. Fawkes protectively shielded Shaun behind him, and then raised his hunting rifle in the direction of the sound. They were silent for a moment, and then Fawkes spoke up.

"Come out now, friend! We know you're there."

"Easy, fellas, no need to get all upset." The voice was smooth as gravy. A man in a beige coat and blue jeans came out from some bushes. He was holding a laser musket. He stepped towards Lucy, who just clicked off the safety as a warning for him to stop. Fawkes spoke again.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Never thought I'd see a mutie asking me questions." The man said. He smiled a wide grin that was perhaps too large for his face. "Don't believe we've met. But you're timing's impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. You might have heard we're making a comeback. The General sent me to collect donations from concerned citizens like yourself. Help us out, and you can count on the Minutemen to be there when you need us. Can I put you down for, say, 100 caps?"

There was a pause.

"You're not Preston Garvey!" Shaun said.

The man looked confused for a moment.

"What are you talking about, kid? Of course I'm Preston Garvey. Have been since my momma named me that, anyway."

"No, I mean you can't be Preston Garvey because I _know_ Preston Garvey." Shaun said, an angry look on his face. "The Minutemen don't take bribes!."

"Listen, lady, can you tell your kid to stop being a little brat?" The man asked. "It's an important service that the Minutemen are providing, and a little donation goes a long way."

Shaun was steaming, and then suddenly he had a sly smile on his face.

"Hey, _Preston,_ how's my mom doing? Dad's been worried sick about her."

"Your mom's doing fine, kid. Doing just fine." The man said. He turned to Lucy. "So…50 caps?"

"My dad is the General of the Minutemen. And my mom's dead, _asshole._ " Shaun snarled.

The man's face fell.

"Oh shit." He whispered in fright. He was about to turn and run, but Lucy had closed the gap and now pressed her gun right against his temple. She held her pistol there for a moment, and then spoke.

"Shaun?" She asked.

"Yeah, Miss Lucy?"

" _Language._ "

"…Sorry." Shaun muttered. Fawkes spoke up for the group.

"Young man, you are committing a cruel crime by fleecing the Commonwealth citizens of their money under the guise of extortion." Fawkes said. "That is a very grave situation you have put us in. Well, rather, for you."

Lucy then pistol-whipped the man across the cheek, and pointed her gun at the floored man on the ground. She had her finger on the trigger.

"Wait!"

She turned to see Shaun. He had a horrified look on her face.

"Jesus, are you going to kill that guy?"

Lucy just looked at the man, and then at Shaun. And then nodded.

"Why?"

"Because he is committing an evil act by fleecing people." Fawkes said. "And if he's started it now he isn't going to stop any time soon."

"But…why not just make him give us any money that he's taken, and then pay it back to the people he's fleeced?" Shaun asked. "Do we need to kill him?"

Lucy looked at the imposter, who shook his head frantically. He pulled a satchel out of his pocket, and then dropped it on the ground. Fawkes took the bag, and shook it to hear the rattling noise of caps. He sighed.

"This money will be better served elsewhere than in a charlatan's pockets." He said.

"So…I just want to say that I'm really sorry. It's just that life is tough in the Commonwealth and there aren't a lot of jobs and I was gonna pay it all back when I got some work and-"

Lucy turned towards the babbling man that was now on his feet.

"Get lost, dipshit."

She peppered the ground around his feet with bullets, forcing him to dance like an idiot to avoid getting shot. And then he raced off into the distance. They watched him run, and then Lucy looked back at Fawkes. And Shaun. And then the three of them started to laugh. Well, Fawkes and Shaun laughed. Lucy just cracked a barely-noticeable smile.

"How a man of that flimsy constitution has survived for so long in the Commonwealth is a mystery to me." Fawkes said. After snickering for a moment, they settled down and continued their trek towards the Castle.

…

He was tense. He always was whenever he knew that there was someone from the Brotherhood nearby. Danse hadn't expected Proctor Teagan to show up at the Castle, and he'd only just barely managed to shut himself up in the General's office to take care of clerical work. He knew that Teagan wasn't exactly a fan of the Commonwealth Accords. And while Danse was sure that Maxson wouldn't shoot him on sight if he discovered that Danse was still alive, Teagan just might.

He sighed, and scribbled some notes into his daily journal. Today it was a little bit tough for him to get his thoughts down on pen and paper, but he was able to. But only just barely.

"Oy, Fusspot."

Well, now he wasn't going to get anything done.

He looked up at Cait, who was leaning in the door.

"Is everything alright, Cait?" He asked.

"Yeah, I just wanted to check on you." Cait said. "It must be rough, havin' to hide in the dark whenever the Brotherhood shows up to the Castle." She said. She leaned against the doorway, and Danse beckoned her to step inside the office. She took a seat at the chair across the desk from him.

"It's not easy." Danse admitted. "But I have no interest in interacting with them anyway. I'm not sure that I've forgiven the Brotherhood for how they tossed me out like a leper."

"That was a load of shite, if you ask me." Cait said. "But in the end, I guess I'm kind of happy about it."

At this, Danse raised an eyebrow.

"In what regard?"

"Well…to be fair, when you were still in the Brotherhood you weren't really a fusspot." She began. "You were kind of an arse. You weren't nice to Hancock, or Valentine…or really anyone to be honest. It was kind of hard to be around you. In fact, I'm pretty sure that our friend was the only one that was able to stand you for extended periods of time."

"I'm glad to know that we've reached the stage of our friendship where we're just insulting each other on an open and blatant level." Danse deadpanned. Cait shook her head.

"I'm serious, Danse." She said. "Ever since you got kicked out of the Brotherhood, it seems like…well, it seems like you're happier. Or at least a little less of an arsehole and more of a fusspot."

Danse rolled his eyes.

"Good to know that I've upgraded from 'arsehole' to 'fusspot.' Truly I have made an amazing turnaround." Danse said. Cait chuckled.

"Do me a favor, Danse. Don't copy me accent. Ya sound like an idiot."

"I do not sound like an idiot. I never sound like an idiot." Danse protested.

"You're right." Cait said. "You sound like a know-it-all."

And that was when they heard the commotion coming outside.

…

Piper witnessed it all. It was getting later in the day, and the sun was beginning to descend in the sky, turning everything a shade of red and orange and even yellow. Earlier in the day, Proctor Teagan had tried and failed to get Sheffield to turn over some of the Castle crops. But now he was trying again. And he wasn't making any more headway. And that was when the sky started to roar.

First came the pair of Vertibirds from the southwest. Piper didn't have to be a genius that those were the ones that had gone off to the Glowing Sea. Her heart then leapt at the thought of seeing Blue again. She hoped that he was okay.

Wait, why exactly had her heart leapt again? It was just Blue. He always got out of these situations in one piece, anyway. Right?

The Vertibirds landed right outside of the Castle, and in a few minutes the people that had hopped off the Vertibird entered the Castle. They looked like hell. Some of the Brotherhood soldiers had their armor battered and even pieces torn off. Some of them were carrying buddies that could even walk. And Blue was out of his armor, with a man in a lab coat next to him. The man in the lab coat looked rather pale and gaunt.

"Doc Fellows!" Blue shouted. "Take care of these soldiers! Someone get Curie, Dr. Virgil needs to be treated for radiation poisoning!" He pointed to a few Minutemen, who all sprang into action to take care of things. He then turned towards Proctor Teagan.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Trying to cut a deal with your farmer here." Teagan said. "We need food for the Brotherhood, and your farmer is being obsti-"

"Grow your own damned food. Or tell Maxson about it. I've got more important things to worry about." He said. He looked around. "Ronnie! Where's Colonel Shaw!"

Blue was clearly exhausted from whatever it was that they'd run into in the Glowing Sea. Piper cautiously made her way over to him, and cleared her throat. He was busy looking at a daily report of everything that he'd missed when he was gone.

"Everything okay, Blue?" Piper asked. Blue looked at her, and sighed.

"Ran into a Matriarch Deathclaw in the Glowing Sea." He said. "Killed it, but not without it nearly killing us. But we have Dr. Virgil here…only to find that he's suffering from serious radiation poisoning. So Curie needs to take care of him. And then we have to get him over to Diamond City. And then we have to deal with this Lucy Martel situation. And _then_ comes the trial. And _then_ comes the battle against Quincy." He sighed. "Jesus, Piper. I don't know how things could get any worse."

At that moment, there was a roaring of a vertibird. Everyone looked up to see that a Brotherhod vertibird – Elder Maxson's personal vertibird, in fact – was about to touch down in the middle of the Castle grounds. Everyone cleared out of the way, and as soon as the door opened Elder Maxson, Scribe Haylen, and then a clean-cut man that Piper only barely recognized as Paladin Brandis leapt out of the vertibird.

Blue, however, was not very pleased.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked.

"Nathanael, this is important." Elder Maxson said. Proctor Teagan turned towards the Elder.

"About time, sir. See, we're having a proble-"

"Proctor Teagan, _be quiet._ " Elder Maxson's words cut through the air like a gunshot, and it was enough for everyone in the Castle to stop what they were doing and listen in. Even Danse, who was holed up in the office with Cait, leaned his head out the door to see what was going on.

"What's the issue?" Blue asked.

"Boss!"

Then they all saw MacCready rush up to the General.

"Oh, _now_ what?" Blue asked. Piper couldn't blame him. It seemed like literally everything in the world was piling up in the Castle right now. So when MacCready started speaking, she wasn't really paying attention. But then she heard the ending bit.

"…And we can't find him, sir. We seriously can't find him, chief."

There was a pause. And then Blue cracked a smile. A somewhat off-kilter smile.

"I must have heard you wrong." Blue said. "Because it _sounded_ like you said you lost my son, and that you can't find him."

There was a dead silence. Piper felt her stomach drop into her toes. Shaun was missing? What the hell was going on? Mac had to be joking. He simply had to be.

But then she saw the look on his face, and her chest started to heave. Her body had figured out what was going on, even if her mind hadn't yet put it all together.

"The Brotherhod escorted the Institute Remnant into Diamond City. At that moment, there was a suicidal charge by some Quincy boys into the Diamond City perimeter. Paladin Kodiak and the Brotherhood were able to beat back the attack but…but Shaun was gone. I think that he must have run away in fright because of all of the gunfire and explosions. And then I was contracted to find him and…I can't. He's gone, boss."

Instinctively, Piper grabbed Blue's hand and gave it a protective squeeze. She almost whished that she hadn't. Because she had somewhat expected him to go limp in shock. She certainly would have in his position. But as she held his hand, and he instinctively returned the gesture, she noticed that his hand wasn't limp.

It was like holding something made of iron.

And in the middle of everything that was going on around him, Nathanael Greene snapped.

…

"What the _fuck_ do you mean my son is gone?" Nate shouted. He seemed to be have grown at least ten feet tall in his anger. Piper had never seen anything like it. She felt that if she let go of him, he was going to step forward and strangle the life out of MacCready. Even Strong, of all people, seemed to be shrinking away from the General of the Minutemen.

"I'm saying that we couldn't find him!" MacCready said. "And I looked everywhere, chief! I know that the Quincy boys don't have him, but we need to keep looking! And we have to find him fast: all this pussyfooting around cost us such precious time, and now the Quincy insurgency is looking to invade _us,_ and not the other way around!"

"Nathanael, we have to talk. It's about her. It's important!" Elder Maxson said.

Nate stared at MacCready with a look of sheer disbelief on his face. And then he shook his head.

" _I DON'T CARE._ " He snapped. "I don't give a _shit_ about Quincy. I don't give a _**fuck**_ about Lucy Martel. Shaun, my son…my _child_ is **gone!** AGAIN! You don't understand, I can't lose him again! I can't!" He fell to his knees in hopeless despair, clenching Piper's hand so hard she thought he was going to break it. "God, you took my wife from me. You took my _son_ from me. _What do I have to do to get my son back_?"

"You can say please."

Everyone whirled towards the voice. It was a woman's voice, somewhat soft, and yet there was no problem hearing it whatsoever. The first person to react was Nate.

"Shaun!"

He raced forward, and effortlessly lifted his son up into a bearhug, holding him so tight it was a wonder that he wasn't crushing the boy.

"Dad…you're crushing me." Shaun mumbled through his dad's shoulder.

Nate looked like he was about to cry. And then he smiled a little bit and let go a bit, setting Shaun down on the ground and getting down on one knee himself.

"Shaun…don't you _ever_ scare me like that again." He said.

"I know Dad." Shaun said. "And I'm sorry. But I'm here now and I'm safe." He turned around and pointed behind him. "Lucy saved me!"

Then Nate blinked.

"…Lucy?"

He looked up, and met her in the eye.

She was tall. About his height, actually, though he had a few inches on her. She was dressed in leather and rags and an old duster that was falling apart. Her hair was long and dreaded and gnarled with years' worth of wasteland material sticking in it. She looked both feral and beautiful in a terrifying sort of way. Her face was expressionless. She blinked once. It seemed to snap him out of his reverie. Gently ushering Shaun behind him, Nate stood upright.

And the Sole Survivor looked upon the Lone Wanderer.

"Lucy Martel, I presume?" He asked, quietly.

She gave the faintest trace of a smile.

"Been a while since anyone called me that."

" _MURDERER!"_

Nate whirled around to see where the shout had come from. And time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was Proctor Teagan, a look of both terror and hate on his face, pulling out a high-powered pistol. He pointed it in their direction. It was far too risky a shot; there were several people in the way between him and the woman he believed killed his Elder. And yet he was going to try to take the shot anyway. Off to the side, Elder Maxson reached for him with a panic-stricken look on his face. His words seemed to echo throughout the Commonwealth.

"Teagan _, DON'T_ _ **!**_ "

 **BANG.**


	12. What Happened That Day

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

The echo of the shot rang through the air, reverberating off the Castle walls and off somewhere into the expanse of the Commonwealth. It was as though every other sound in the world had been removed from existence. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

There was a dull thud, like a slab of meat hitting the ground.

And then a voice cut through the air.

" _FAWKES!_ "

Lucy rushed over to the side of the Super Mutant. He was lying on the ground, writhing in pain. She got down to one knee, reaching into her pocket, desperately searching for something that could stop the flow of blood.

"No. Nonononono-" She was babbling. "No, don't-you're fine, Fawkes. Stay-stay with me. Please, Fawkes _staywithme_ please! Hold on, I'm-I'm gonna help you I'm – _CALL A DOCTOR!_ " She howled, looking around as if she noticed some of the people in the Castle for the first time.

Nate snapped out of his reverie, and turned towards the corpsman near him.

"Get Doc Fellows!" He barked to a nearby Minuteman. "NOW!" The soldier stumbled over himself, but he raced over to the medical station on the other side of the Castle along with several of his friends.

Lucy continued to dig through her pocket, and then stopped when she found what she was looking for. A single Stimpak, the kind of thing that would be enough to stabilize the Super Mutant until professional help could arrive. She looked at it, and made sure that the syringe wasn't broken. She took a deep breath, and then looked at Fawkes.

"It's okay, Fawkes. You're gonna be fine and you're gonna be alright. I'm gonna-I'm gonna give you this and-"

A massive, mottled green hand reached up, cupping her cheek. She stopped speaking, as if stunned into silence, and turned her head and looked down at the Super Mutant before her.

Fawkes stared at her, a strangely calm look on his face. His breathing was labored, but he refused to break eye contact. A trickle of blood rolled down the corner of his mouth.

"Friend…Lucy…" His voice was little more than a whisper. "I do not regret…one moment…by…your side..."

His eyes closed, and his hand went limp.

…

Lucy Martel stared at what had once been her most faithful and trusted companion. The man who had stayed by her side for years, even as the others faded away or moved on. The Stimpak dangled loosely in her fingers. Slowly, she stood upright. She started to take a step, but then stopped. It was as though she had been struck by a sudden bout of dizziness. She took another step forward, and then another. She managed to step a few feet in front of Fawkes' body, and then stood there. Her eyes were staring at something off in the distance, and they seemed to be wet and glistening. And then she dropped to her knees, the Stimpak in her hand clattering uselessly to the ground.

She closed her eyes, and let out a scream.

It was a howl of primal anger and anguish and regret and despair, her voice cracking as the tears started to trickle down her eyes. And then she finished her howl almost as soon as she had begun, and stared off into the distance again, a distant and expressionless look on her face. The tears had smeared the dirt and grease that already coated her face, and she no longer looked feral.

She looked like a wretch.

There was a clacking sound. Proctor Teagan frantically attempted to reload his gun, attempting to finish what he had started mere moments ago. Nate saw him move and wanted to reach for his own weapon, but the Proctor had a half-second start on him, and that was probably more than enough.

But Arthur Maxson was closer.

"Stand _down,_ Proctor!" The Elder growled, grabbing the gun and forcing Teagan to point the weapon down into the ground. There was another report, as the gun fired harmlessly into the dirt. Nate noticed that, while everyone else in the Castle flinched, Lucy was unmoved. As soon as he had wrestled the gun away from the Proctor, Arthur Maxson expertly ejected the remaining rounds from the pistol and then tossed the clip to the ground.

"Your actions have resulted in the death of an innocent civilian!" Maxson barked. "You would be wise not to make another move."

" _Innocent civilian?_ " Teagan sneered. "Elder, that creature was an abomination that I have cleansed! You should give me a medal for removing a known accomplice to that murderous traitor!"

"Did that Mutant make a threatening move against you?" Maxson retorted. "The only movement he made – _he,_ not _it_ – was to jump in front of your reckless shot! You could have hit the son of the Minutemen General, you fool!"

"A risk worth taking to eliminate traitors, sir!" Proctor Teagan barked back.

 **SLAP.**

The back of Maxson's hand left a noticeable red mark on the side of Teagan's face. He pointed a threatening finger in the Proctor's face.

"Another word, man, and I will _carve out your tongue._ "

"…You waited till we weren't paying attention, Teagan. Just like last time."

…

Everyone turned. Lucy Martel had spoken. Her voice was soft, with none of the roughness that had coated every word the last time Maxson heard her voice. She was still staring out into the distance, looking at nothing in particular. But she continued to speak.

"I can still hear it sometimes, when I try to fall asleep." She said. "The crunching of the ground under our feet. It's a brisk and cold morning. You could see your breath, that's how cold it was. It was supposed to be a simple mission. Scout the northern territories. Find out any space for a settlement. Then report back to base."

"I still hear her give the order: 'Teagan, keep the squad back and watch the rear. Wolf and I take point.' I still count the number of steps I took. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. And then I hear the whirring of laser rifles. Something tells me to duck. And I drop to the ground right as I hear the guns fire. I feel the searing pain of laser scorches on my back, some of them cutting into my armor but none of them punching through. I hit the ground and I look to my right. I see her…standing there, the laser shots ripping through the back of her armor like…like it isn't even there."

She paused.

"At first she stands upright. She looks straight ahead, as if she is still focused on the mission at hand. Her face…it's like she can't quite understand what's happened to her. She takes one step and then collapses, the blood trickling from her lips. She's staring at me as she falls. I hear the sizzling of the gauss rifle shots, smell her charred skin under the armor."

"I hear laughter from the rear. 'Two for the price of one!' 'Like shooting molerats in a barrel.' And my shock and confusion is replaced with rage. I roll over onto my back, ignoring the burning pain as I do, and I draw my gun. I hit Knight Rhees first. He died before he knew what happened, a smile still on his face as I put one between his eyes. They still had their helmets but…at that range a Desert Eagle punches through the helmet like a knife through razorgrain. Then Simms, Leopold, Loeb and Graves. All of them dead. Paladin Teagan turns tail and runs. I pull the trigger-empty. He disappears into the mist. And I'm left there with her."

There was dead silence. Piper had to remind herself to breathe. And then, Proctor Teagan turns towards Elder Maxson.

"Listen to her, Elder. Projecting her own guilt onto the innocent! These are the ramblings of a madwoman! Let me put her down like the rabid dog that she is!" Teagan snarled. And then he stared at Elder Maxson, who was still watching Lucy Martel with a blank expression on his face. "Elder? Elder, why are you hesitating? She is a _murderer!_ "

"…Is she?" Elder Maxson asked, turning to face Proctor Teagan.

"Elder, what are you suggesting?" One of the Brotherhood Knights on station asked. But he did not look over at the soldier. Instead, staring bullet holes at Proctor Teagan, Elder Maxson spoke up.

"Scribe Haylen. Read the official supply log for the mission in question, and what Sentinel Martel was carrying on that mission."

Scribe Haylen nodded, and cleared her throat

"' _Designation: Sentinel, 002. Name: Martel, Lucy. Equipment upon departure: Standard T-51b Power Armor with no modifications. Five Stimpaks. One belt of grenades, two fragmentation and three concussive. One sidearm, designation 'Desert Eagle,' .50mm rounds. 50 rounds of ammunition."_

"What does that have to do with anything?" Proctor Teagan asked. Elder Maxson continued to stare at him.

"Scribe, please read the official coroner's report."

Her voice was somewhat shaky, but Scribe Haylen consented.

" _Official observations: victim shows clear signs of gunshot trauma. Preliminary analysis suggests a concentration to the upper torso, aimed from behind. The manner of bullet spread suggests a concentrated choice of aiming, as though the victim was shot from behind and most likely unaware of what occurred. Such a shooting could result from an accidental discharge, but in this case that is unlikely considering the primary shot: an energy blast targeted towards the lower back, where the armor is weakest and least likely to defend. Though ballistics will confirm, preliminary analysis suggests the shooter knew to aim for this weak spot, and with a weapon that could penetrate the armor. Most likely choices include gauss rifles. There are no traces of ballistic damage to the body."_

"Again, the relevance?" Proctor Teagan asked. Though now Nate saw that he seemed to be sweating. Arthur Maxson just pointed at Scribe Haylen. She seemed somewhat embarrassed.

"Well, I'm, um…kind of a big fan of Sentinel Martel." She said. "And I, uh, well I guess I was a little bit of a fangirl." She was about as red as a tomoato, Nate thought. "And though I joined the Brotherhood a few years after she'd been ejected, I read up as much about her career as I could. Like…the fact that she never used non-ballistic weapons. Like, _never._ She only used her .50mm Desert Eagle no matter the occasion." She paused. "Because her father had given it to her after she'd found him in the Wastelands, and it was a memento. She literally never used anything else. Ever. I've looked over all sorts of mission statements and reports. I don't think she's ever used a laser or gauss weapon."

"So tell me, Proctor…" Elder Maxson's voice was terrifyingly low and quiet. "…If the Sentinel had a signature weapon, the kind that was registered in every one of her reports and came to be as well-known as she was…then it is reasonable to assume that she would have used that weapon to kill the Elder. So why is it that the coroner found no evidence of any ballistic damage _or_ bullets in the body…but instead found burn damage that could only come from a gauss rifle?"

Proctor Teagan said nothing.

"…What did you hope would happen?" Arthur asked. "That, as a young man, I would get easily distracted by the many things that the Proctor's Council threw in front of me? That the issues of reintegrating the Outcasts, making contact with the Lost Hills Elders, or stabilizing the Capital Wasteland…that these things would cause me to not look hard enough into the death of Sarah Lyons? That I…that I would just forget, and in the meantime you all hoped I'd catch Lucy and kill her and remove the last loose thread?" He was now about a foot from Teagan's face. "Did you think that I would eventually forget about her, and move on to the next stage of life? Did you _honestly_ think that I would ever, _ever_ in my life forget Sarah?"

"Do you hear yourself?" Proctor Teagan asked. He looked flabbergasted. "You're the Brotherhood of Steel Elder! You're supposed to be in charge of the strongest force in the Wasteland, not be brought down by sentimental worries or concerns! As the leader of an austere organization, you have taken us to great heights, Elder!"

"…Did you shoot Sarah Lyons?"

"And furthermore, Elder, you should consider what needs to be done for the future. There are rumors of a Brotherhood enclave in the Second City, that lost mecca to the west on the base of a Great Sea! These are the things that you should be concerned about, not the minutiae of an event that happened ten years ago!"

"…Did you shoot Sarah Lyons?"

"I only did what was necessary so that you could finally see what the important goals of the Brotherhood were and I am pl-"

" _DID YOU SHOOT SARAH LYONS?"_

 _"_ **YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID!"** Teagan roared.

A hush fell over the crowd.

"She was a soft woman, just like her soft old man!" Teagan snarled. "And they were going to ruin the Brotherhood for the rest of us. There were many who wanted her gone, and I was just the one that had the opportunity and the skills to pull it off. The Brotherhood is stronger with her gone, and I would _gladly_ do it again for the stability of our order and our goal: collecting and preserving the technology of the old world and preventing the common rabble from abusing it! And I won't let some lovesick sentimental _boy_ uproot everything that has been done to establish that goal!"

 **CRACK.**

This time, Maxson pistol-whipped Teagan across the cheek with the same gun that had killed Fawkes. Teagan sputtered, his cheek swelling and cut. Blood was running down the side of his face. Maxson simply stared at him.

"Cassius Teagan, I hereby excommunicate you." Elder Maxson said. "Your name shall be stricken from the records of the Brotherhood. Your exploits shall be purged. You will be a forgotten name, who will disappear into the dust. You are no longer a Proctor of the Brotherhood of Steel. You are now a common citizen of the Commonwealth…" He turned towards Nate. "And I believe that you are no longer under my protection."

"…Wha-" Teagan was about to speak, when another voice spoke up.

"Cassius Teagan, you are under arrest." A small cadre of Minutemen marched up towards the disgraced ex-Proctor. They were flanking the man in the middle who had spoken. "You are charged with the attempted murder of a Commonwealth citizen, and the murder of another. You shall be remanded into the custody of the Minutemen, where your fate shall be decided at a later date."

"YOU?" Teagan howled. "…You are a machine! A falsification of life! You have no heart! No…you have no soul!"

"I have more of a soul than you ever shall, Teagan." Danse said coldly. He pointed to the man. "Take him away, gentlemen."

Howling, Teagan fought valiantly to avoid the handcuffs. But eventually he was subdued. As Danse prepared to lead him away, hoping to avoid a conversation with Maxson, the Elder spoke.

"…Major." He was deliberately avoiding eye contact, but Danse knew why.

"Yes, Elder?" He asked.

"Do not execute him. At least not right away. He spoke as though there is a conspiracy within my Brotherhood. I wish to know how deep it reaches. And then I will stamp it out."

"Your request shall be taken into consideration." Danse said frigidly, and then he led Teagan away.

…

A hanging silence permeated the air. The magnitude of what had happened, of what had just occurred, seemed to have stunned all into silence. And then Lucy began to speak again.

"It was an act of mercy."

Nate looked over to her.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"I didn't murder Sarah Lyons." Lucy said. She then closed her eyes and hung her head. "But I did kill her."

"I…what?" Nate asked.

"Scribe." Lucy said, her eyes still closed. "Read the toxicology report for the deceased. Let them know."

Her hands shaking, Scribe Haylen cleared her throat.

" _Toxicology: The victim appears to be in good physical health, with no signs of severe muscular or skeletal damage. However, a high concentration of morphine and other such pain relievers are present in her system. Though it is possible for the human body to handle such a dosage, considering the internal injuries and damage from each shot it is highly unlikely._ "

"She was in such pain." Lucy said. "Her breathing was ragged and shallow. There was…this panicked look in her eyes. And as Teagan fled I rolled over towards her, reaching into my pocket and looking for something…anything that could help her. But she just shook her head. Told me…told me that there was nothing that I could do for her. Nothing except…make it painless."

She looked off to the side and to the ground, and Nate followed her eyes. She was staring at the Stimpak that she had dropped a few moments before. And in that moment, it all made sense.

"She didn't suffer long, Arthur." Lucy said. "It was like…like she just drifted off. Not that that really comforts you though, does it?" She shook her head. "It didn't comfort me. The look on her face…that peaceful smile, that assurance in her eyes that everything was going to be alright…it sure as hell didn't comfort me. Sometimes in my nightmares I still see her smiling. I know she wanted me to think that I was doing her a service but…that doesn't change how I feel. It doesn't fill that hole I've got here." She smacked her chest, somewhat half-heartedly and listlessly.

Another silence.

"They all drifted from me, you know." She said. "All of them. Just went their separate ways, in one form or another. Clover went to Rivet City, and just cut off contact. RL-3 Is deactive somewhere in the bowels of the Capital Wasteland, just another hunk of scrap metal. Cross was KIA a year after Project Purity went online. I never hired Jericho, and I think he drank himself to death in Megaton. Harkness…Harkness died out to the west, last I heard. Butch…Butch just disappeared. One day I'd come down to the barber shop in Rivet and he wasn't there anymore. They said he didn't want to say goodbye, that he thought he didn't deserve to see me again."

She kept talking. Her eyes were slightly watery.

"Charon…Charon retired. I tore up his contract and told him to live a free man. He just nodded, and he left. Didn't even say goodbye. I guess he didn't really know how. I know what he felt but…but…he's still gone. Disappeared somewhere into the Divide, I think. Amata…she won't…she doesn't want to see me anymore. Doubt she'd even recognize me all this time. Is the vault even running anymore? Are they all dead?"

"Sarah was the only one that understood. The only one that knew just how painful it was to lose people. Stood by my side, through everything. Through everything and then some. She was the best of us, Arthur. And they killed her. Killed the one person that I could talk to. Killed the person that meant the most to me. And I swore to myself…I swore to myself that I'd find some way, somehow, to get my revenge."

But then she looked over at Fawkes.

"But what did it get me, Arthur? Ten years…ten years of running. Of scrapping. Of cutting myself off from what life used to be like. I didn't do anything. I didn't get my revenge, or even a sense of justice. I just feel…wasted. Empty. And now I have another body on my conscience. Another life that was lost because of me." She shook her head. "Why'd you stay, Fawkes? You could have left. Could have gone and been a scholar somewhere. Could have helped tell the world that not every Super Mutant is evil…why'd you stick by _my_ side of all things? Look what it got you, you stupid, stubborn oaf. Why? Why did you stand by me?"

Nate heard some sniffling. He looked over. Some of the Minutemen present were trying not to cry. But even the Brotherhood soldiers were having a hard time keeping their composure.

"God, what a waste." Lucy mumbled. "All this time, fighting for something that I could never hope to change. And the Wasteland got to me. My father…oh god, my father would be so disappointed…" She was practically whispering now.

And then she looked over at Maxson.

"I watched you eject the rounds out of that pistol, Arthur. I counted. There's…there's still one more left. Seated in the chamber." She looked him straight in the eye. "Just do it. I got nothing. I have no one. Might as well finish what we started, ten years ago."

She looked at him, and shrugged.

"So what are you waiting for?... _do it._ "

No response.

" _ **DO IT!**_ "

BANG.

The sound of the gun caused Nate to reflexively close his eyes. He opened them again to see what had transpired.

Arthur Maxson stood there in the center of the Castle grounds, resolute and solemn. He held the pistol, the barrel pointing skyward. There was a slight ringing in the air as the echo of the wasted shot rang out.

He stared at the woman before him, and spoke.

"Once upon a time, I was a young man who was scared out of his mind with the legacy and responsibility that would one day become mine with the passing of Owyn Lyons. And I remember nearly killing his own daughter because I didn't know what I was doing. Almost everything I did was either a disappointment or a total failure. I had no confidence in myself or my future." He said. "But I remember a woman who had no qualms about my eventual takeover of the Brotherhood, who always told me that I was better than I thought I was, that in the end I would be destined for greatness because I knew the importance of deviating right from wrong. That I knew the truth, and that I knew that risking the consequences were always worth it as long as I was doing the right thing in the end. Do you remember telling me all of that, Lucy?"

She stared at him, a blank look on her face. It was as if she still couldn't believe he chose not to shoot her.

"I never forgot you, Lucy." He said. "Even when it went against my nature, I remembered your lessons. I spared someone that every one of my inclinations told me was better off dead, because in addition to the arguments of those who cherished him…I remembered you. And I remember what you'd told me. Deep down, it was always there. I could never believe that someone of your conviction would murder Sarah. Not like that. Not ever. And I lived for years in deep guilt over what I had done, because I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I was wrong to order your death. And when I heard you were in the Commonwealth…I feared that you had come for me, come to exact the revenge that you most likely deserved. I just…I let them steer me. They always had me in their web. Those men and women who would abandon the people of the Wastes just to collect technology. I used to think, in the aftermath of what I did here in the Commonwealth, it was because I had become a changed man. That the will of the General and others had convinced me to try something against my better interest. But now…now I know the truth. They were appealing to my better interests all along. And they were better interests that you cultivated, Lucy. You're responsible for the man that I am."

There was a clattering sound. The pistol dropped from his hands.

"Lucy." He said. "You aren't alone. Not anymore. You have me. _I'm_ here." He walked over to her, and held out his hand. "You can stop running. You never should have been forced to run in the first place. Please…let's do this together. So that Sarah's death…wasn't just a waste of life."

There was silence. And then he spoke one last time.

"Lucy, I believe you. You are innocent. And as Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel…I revoke the order for your death. You are no longer excommunicated. You can come home."

From his position over to the side, Nate watched as the dam burst. Lucy started to sob, taking Arthur by the hand and standing upright. Upon that moment, they embraced, and he could hear her sobbing into his shoulders as her own shoulders shook with every breath. He saw the wetness in Arthur's own eyes, and heard the sniffling. And then Nate stood up.

"This…this isn't the kind of conversation you should have in front of strangers, Arthur." He said. He pointed over to the General's office. "Take as much time as you need. Ten years…that's an awful lot of catching up to do."

With grateful nods, Arthur and Lucy left. Nate then turned towards the rest of the people in the Castle that had been watching this entire time.

"Remember this moment." He said. And then he cleared his throat. "Everyone, return to your posts. Remember this moment…but return to your posts."

Slowly, the world began to turn again. And as everyone began to man their original posts, Nate looked over at Shaun. That was when he realized that the boy had been watching the entire thing.

"Shaun…?" He asked. His son blinked, and then looked up at his father.

"I'm going to do whatever I can, dad." He said. "Whatever I can to make things better in the Commonwealth. And in the Wastes. Because…I don't like seeing people like Lucy or the Elder upset like that." He looked firm and looked up at his dad. "Is that a good thing?"

"Yeah…yeah it is, Shaun." Nate said. "You know, you're a pretty good kid." He realized that he was about to cry himself.

"Thanks, Dad." Shaun said. He looked over at Fawkes, and blinked back a few tears. "Are…are we going to bury Fawkes?"

"Of course, Shaun." Nate said. "It's the least we can do…"

Shaun looked over at the door to the General's office. And then he looked back at his dad.

"Are…are they gonna be okay?"

Nate sighed. He looked at his son. He looked at the door to the office. And then he looked back to Shaun. He wasn't sure. Was he? Ten years was a long time to move on from something.

But then he reached into his pocket, and absently felt the small ring. A realization washed over him. And then he knew the answer. He looked over at Shaun.

"Yeah. Yeah Shaun, I do."


	13. Hanging on the Cliff

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Dad?"

Nate turned back to look at Shaun. The eleven year old was staring at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What, Shaun?" Nate asked.

"You…didn't really answer my question."

"What? Yeah I did." Nate said.

"No, you didn't." Shaun said, crossing his arms. "I asked if they were going to be okay, and you said 'Yeah, Yeah I do.' You didn't say that they were going to be okay."

"…Oh." Nate said. "You're…you're right I guess. I got the wires crossed up, I guess. But yeah, Shaun. I do think that they're going to be okay."

Shaun still didn't uncross his arms.

"What were you thinking about that was so distracting, Dad?" He asked.

Nate let go of the ring in his pocket, and pulled his hand out to the side. He looked out to the Atlantic (though he was sure that he was the only man left alive that would still know its original name), and then looked back at his son.

"…Nothing, Shaun. Nothing to worry about, at least."

…

"They've been in there a long time."

Danse looked up. Cait had walked over towards him, and was sitting down on a rock that had yet to be cleared out of the Castle grounds. Danse was busy scribbling something into his personal journal that would eventually be transcribed onto some official paperwork…official paperwork that was on his desk, that was currently inaccessible thanks to the continued presence of Arthur Maxson and Lucy Martel. They'd been in there for hours now. It had been some time since he'd had Teagan thrown into the catacombs of the Castle. According to a few of his men, Teagan had been shouting and screaming for at least the last hour or so. They'd just tuned him out at this point. When Danse had asked one of the men standing guard, roughly thirty minutes ago, what the fuss was about, the young man shrugged.

"Just an old man talking to himself, sir." The Minuteman responded.

Danse had made a personal note to put that boy on the fast track to something good; such eloquence had to be rewarded.

"A decade of mistrust and lies and poor communication doesn't just disappear by the removal of a death warrant, Cait." Danse said. "Sentinel Martel has every right to ream the Elder out for what he did to her; even if he had been led astray by the Proctors' Council and Teagan and the like, that doesn't change the fact that she was an outcast for a decade. Think. What were _you_ doing ten years ago?" He asked.

Cait shrugged.

"Fightin' and fuckin' my way through the Commonwealth."

Danse rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry I asked." Danse said. And then it hit him. "Cait, you were _sixteen."_

 _"_ So?" Cait asked.

"Haven't you already told the General that you were sold at eighteen?" He asked. Cait bit her lip.

"Was just tryin' to lighten the mood, you _arse._ " She said. Danse immediately realized that he had overstepped his boundaries.

"Cait…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive." He said. Cait sighed.

"I know." She said. "It's just…even though I told myself that I was gonna be able to get over it and that telling people meant that it wouldn't have its power over me…it still hurts like hell."

"I know how you feel." Danse said. He looked around, and then looked over at the large cloth covering over to the side. The cloth that was covering the body of the Sentinel's fallen friend. "I never would have thought I would get so angry over the death of a Super Mutant before." He admitted quietly.

"Feel like less of a fusspot, then, do ya?" Cait asked, a teasing lilt to her voice. Danse rolled his eyes again.

"I suppose." He said. "But…then again…I seem to notice that you are a little more softened since being around here, too."

"Yeah? Maybe it's something in the water." Cait said.

"Or maybe it's him." Danse said, pointing over to the General, who was currently quietly talking to his son. Cait looked over.

"Could be." Cait said. "He's a nice guy. My best friend, even when I thought I didn't have any. Sometimes I'm grateful that he ain't…you know…"

"…Awful?" Danse finished for her. Cait just nodded.

"Don't know what he'd be like if he wasn't such a good guy." Cait said. "It's kind of a scary thought." She then looked back over at the cloth covering the fallen Super Mutant, and then back at Danse. "Do you think he'll be remembered?"

"Who, Fawkes?" Danse asked. He sighed. "Yeah, I think he will."

"How do you figure?" Cait asked.

Danse reached down into the small burlap bag that was set at his feet. He dug around in it for a moment, and then pulled out a small moleskine journal.

"He kept journals. I only glanced at a few of the words but…they're very much philosophical musings. I don't know if I'm the one that's best suited to keeping them, but…maybe it's worth something to read them. See what he had to say."

"Yeah?" Cait asked, a smile creeping up on her face. "I bet." She then smiled some more. "You think that you'll ever write something worthwhile, ya fusspot?"

Danse chuckled.

"Me? Write a book? Unlikely."

…

It was close to five in the morning when they re-emerged from the office. By then, the majority of the Castle was either asleep or about to fall asleep. There was a skeleton crew of people manning their posts, but those that even saw the figures leave the office didn't pay much mind. By then they were over the novelty, and were back to their regular business.

Nate remained out on the Castle grounds, along with Danse. Considering the fact that Nate's personal quarters were attached to the office, he literally had no way to get to his bed until they were finished. Danse had offered to stay out with the General as a show of solidarity. Cait had tried her best to stay up with them, but at the moment was currently snoring on Danse's shoulder. It was a source of some embarrassment for the major and a source of great amusement for the increasingly tired General.

They walked up in front of the two Minutemen leaders, and stood there for a moment. Nate looked up at them, and raised an eyebrow. But he remained silent, waiting for one of them to speak.

In the end, it was Arthur who broke the silence.

"I have to return to the Capital Wasteland." He said.

"What for?" Danse asked. Maxson looked at him, and though there was still a sense of distrust in his eyes, his reaction was not nearly the one of pure disgust and hate that it had been upon the day of his banishment.

"My Brotherhood is diseased." Maxson said. "It runs down to the core. It's more than just Teagan acting alone. There is no way that he could have gotten away with the things that he did if there weren't people in the Proctors' Council or otherwise that sanctioned and even encouraged it." He sighed. "The Brotherhood of Steel is supposed to be for the good of the people of the Wastes. How can we do that when half of it has their own machinations in place, their own goals and ends in mind?"

"Are you suggesting that you're going to dismantle the entire Brotherhood of Steel?" Danse asked.

"No." Maxson said. "I don't intend to dismantle the Brotherhood. I will _cleanse_ it. It's the only way for it to survive. If I have to personally excommunicate every last person, I will do it. And I will rebuild the Brotherhood with my own two hands if I must. My ancestor Roger Maxson created this organization for the greater good. If I'm going to honor his legacy…there is no other choice." He looked at the General sadly. "Nathanael, you've been the greatest friend I could ask for. Impartial, and willing to tell me when I was wrong. It's because of you that I do this: I could never view myself worthy of your friendship or of this alliance we have created if my own organization was rotted at the core. It is an insult."

"Be sure your emotions don't get the better of you." Danse said. "Your use of the word 'cleanse' doesn't make you sound any better than Teagan."

"That is a fair point, Major." Maxson said. "But that's why I do not intend to do it alone."

"I'm going with him." Lucy said. "I spent ten years trying to find a way to get my revenge for the death of Sarah. Now that I know Arthur had nothing to do with it, I'll be damned if I let him walk back into that place without me by his side." She paused. "I believe in the words of Owyn Lyons. I believe in the Brotherhood of Steel. That's why we leave. We have to so that we can stand alongside you."

"You make us seem so important." Danse said.

"Give yourselves some credit." Maxson said. "There aren't many forces of stability on the east. Outside of the Capital Wasteland, yours is probably the largest. If we do things right, we can and will shape the future of the Commonwealth and beyond for years to come." He then looked sad. "I feel somewhat ashamed, abandoning you now in a time of struggle."

"There _are_ reports that the forces from the Quincy insurrection are mobilizing." Danse said.

Arthur Maxson took a deep breath. And then he looked Nate in the eye.

"Nathanael Greene. As a fellow leader…as a fellow soldier…as your _friend…_ I promise you this, from the bottom of my heart: _I will return._ "

Nate nodded, and stood up and gave Maxson a hug. He shook Lucy's hand. And then Maxson cleared his throat.

"I don't suppose…"

"He will be remanded into your custody." Nate said. "Do with him as you wish."

" _Gladly._ " Lucy said, a cold edge to her words that left a shiver down the back of Danse's neck. With that, Nate nodded once. Arthur Maxson and Lucy Martel took their leave, walking over to the Vertibird that was perched in the center of the grounds. Within moments, the Brotherhood soldiers and knights that had been standing by began to load up for the return trip to the Prydwen.

They watched the sudden flurry of late-night action for a few moments. Danse listened to Cait (who was snoring like gunfire) for a second, and then turned towards Nate. The General of the Minutemen reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. As he lit it, Danse spoke.

"You knew this was going to happen."

"I had my suspicions." Nate replied, taking a puff from the now-lit cigar. "Even from the early days, as we were hammering out the details of the peace treaty for the Commonwealth, I could tell that Arthur Maxson was like a puppet on strings. He wanted to move on his own, and yet there were so many other people that were ushering him in certain directions here and there. It was just a matter of finding the right string to follow, to get to his core. That was what we did that night before the official signing of the treaty, as we sat up on the Wall. I think that was the first time in his career that Arthur felt like he was the master and commander of his own destiny." He looked over at Danse. "I think that the thought exhilarated him, to be honest. From there, it was only a matter of time. Lucy's arrival was the catalyst."

"Perhaps." Danse said. He decided to take out his own pipe. As he started lighting it (knowing that Cait would soon awaken – no doubt in a state of annoyance), he looked over at the General. "That doesn't change the fact that the Brotherhood is essentially pulling out of the Commonwealth for the foreseeable future. They'll take the Prydwen and the lion's share of their troops and ammo. It'll be a miracle if any of the exploratory forces stay in the cities. And if we're _really_ unlucky, they'll keep Knight Rhys' unit in Goodneighbor as our only support."

"True." Nate said. "But we have to deal with it."

"It's not fair, Nate. To be totally honest." Danse said.

Nate stared out into the distance for a moment. And then he started to speak.

"Danse, have you ever played chess?"

"Somewhat." Danse replied. "Only against Codsworth, and not nearly enough to get good at it. The damned bot is good at that game."

Nate chuckled. And then he continued.

"There's a playing situation in chess that, no matter how much you try to avoid it, you end up getting suckered into anyway. It's a situation where, no matter what move you make, it has a negative outcome. Something is lost, even if you try to think of ways to lessen the loss…there's still a loss. It's often a serious disadvantage."

"I see." Danse said. He puffed on his pipe. "This 'situation' got a name?" He asked.

Nate's response was almost immediate.

" _Zugzwang._ "

"Hell of a word." Danse said. "Where's it from?"

"Germany."

"Where?"

"Before your time." Nate said. He chuckled mirthlessly. "No matter what move we take, there's a bad thing waiting at the end of it. If Arthur did nothing, then Lucy either gets to him or his Brotherhood continues to rot. If he returns to the Capital, he could reform his Brotherhood or it could all collapse. And he leaves us either way. If we support him, then we willingly lose troops against Quincy. If we keep him, then perhaps in the long run the victory is hollow. There isn't a good solution. There's just…Zugzwang."

"Is 'Zugzwang' salvageable?" Danse asked.

Nate looked at him. Even in the gloaming, Danse could see the conviction in the Genearl's eyes.

"Yeah. It's difficult…but it's possible."

Danse chuckled.

"We make a habit out of getting ourselves into impossible situations, don't we, Nate?"

Nate just laughed right back.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess we do, Danse."

"Well, here's to us and impossible situations."

"Cheers."

…

The following morning was a sombering sight. People crowded along the northern wall of the Castle as they were treated to the sight of the Prydwen, which had been for so long tethered to the Boston airport, beginning to move. Surrounded by several buzzing Vertibirds, the massive metal giant slowly moved through the air, blaring horns to signal its departure. For some time, the people in the Castle watched, as if transfixed by both the departure as well as the implicit thought that they were witnessing a secure and stabilizing presence in their lives disappearing into the grey.

Nate turned towards Colonel Ronnie Shaw, who was at his side as they watched the procession.

"Get runners moving. Let the settlements know that this is a temporary evacuation, and that the Brotherhood has left token detachments in the settlements. We are still in control of the situation. The Minutemen are here to defend the people at a moment's notice."

"Aye, sir." Ronnie said, and then she left to begin barking orders and getting people into place.

And that was when things exploded.

"FRIENDLIES IN THE FIRING ZONE!"

Almost immediately, Nate looked over to the entrance of the Castle to see a score of Minutemen soldiers marching back into the Castle, each with signs of battle damage and weariness on their bodies and in their eyes. They were flanked with some civilians, all clearly shell-shocked. But then Nate noticed one in particular.

"Duke!"

He raced over. The member of the Atom Cats looked up, and Nate was struck with the battered look in the man's eye. Also, he wasn't in his power armor either.

"Duke, what happened?" He asked.

"They came out of nowhere, chief…" He said. "Zeke held 'em off as long as he could, but then we had to run. They chased us right out of the garage, man…There were so many…"

He just stared off into the distance, and then walked ahead towards the med station. Nate saw the rest of the Atom Cats, some of them in (badly-damaged) armor, and some of them without. Zeke, their charismatic leader, was nowhere to be found. And considering the battered look in their eyes, Nate figured that what was left of him was probably left in the burning remains of the Atom Cats garage. He shuffled through the many civilians that were pushing into the Castle, as if the walls would be enough to save them. He managed to get to Preston, who was in the middle of the group. The man was a mess: a black eye, a taped cut on his forehead, and his hat had a noticeable amount of burn damage on it. Preston looked at his boss, and gave a weary salute.

"General."

"Preston, what the hell happened?"

"Quincy happened." Preston said. "I don't know; I guess they were biding their time. But they've got a lot of people in that mess. And they're drawing from somewhere; I think maybe places to the south of the Commonwealth. I thought I heard some of the people screaming for 'Bawlmer' and other things. But they managed to build an army, Nate. A really big one."

"Can we fight them?" Nate asked.

"If the Brotherhood were here, I'd have no worries." Preston said. "But now?..." He sighed. "We're going to have to dig in. Prepare for the worst case scenario."

"Which is?" Nate asked.

"We give them the countryside, in the hopes of defending the major cities. Goodneighbor, Diamond City, the Castle, the Airport…those are going to be the priorities."

"Jesus, that's what killed us in Vietnam…" Nate muttered. "Preston, give it to me straight. How bad is it?"

Preston Garvey looked the General in the eye.

"We're going to have to dig in, sir." He said.

"…Done." Nate said. He cleared his throat. " _Danse!_ Danse, where are you?"

"Here, sir." Danse raced up towards him.

"Assign one of the lieutenants to help Curie and Codsworth and Doc Fellows to tend to the wounded. Then send runners to Diamond City and Goodneighbor and the airport. From there have people running out to the other settlements that are closest. Tell them to get a head-count: I want ammo counts, head counts, and everything that they might have to defend against sieges. We need to know how prepared or unprepared people are. When you're done with that, meet me and Ronnie in the war room. We need to assemble scouting parties. We need to know what we're dealing with. Understood?"

"Crystal, sir." Danse raced off, disappearing into the crowd.

"Blue!"

A pang went through Nate's heart. He turned around to see Piper. She had a frantic look on her face.

"Blue, what's going on?" She asked.

"Quincy got the jump on us." He said. He was never one to mince words with Piper. She'd just sniff out the truth anyway. Piper put a hand to her mouth.

"Oh god, _Nat!_ " She started to shake a little bit. "Blue, I gotta go. I gotta go be with her."

"Piper, I can get her to the Castle." Nate said. The thought of her leaving deeply concerned him.

"Blue, I know you say that…but I trust myself getting from here to Diamond City better than I trust her getting from there to here." Piper said. "And I have to go now! Now, I'm…oh god, I'm so sorry." She started to back up. "I'll…I'll write as soon as I get back to the city, I promise! Okay?"

She started to turn around.

"Piper, wait. I have something…something to tell you."

She turned back around.

"What is it, Blue?"

The words caught in his throat. But he knew she was expecting an answer. So he gave her now.

"Piper, I…I want you to be safe. Okay? Promise you'll write me when you get to Diamond City."

Piper nodded, a resolute look on her face.

"Blue, I promise I'll stay in touch."

And then she stepped forward and hugged him.

He was startled at first, but then slowly returned the embrace. He held her long, as if dreading letting go. Judging from the way she was practically squeezing his air out, she was feeling the same way. But eventually she had to let go. She stared at him, and he stared at her.

"I'll see you later, Blue." She said.

And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

Nate stared after her, and before long felt himself getting swept up into the sea of people and shouts and orders and cries, as everything descended into near-chaos. He looked up towards the ramparts, and saw that Shaun and Isabel were at the module, trying to outfit Ada with more defensive armaments. He looked over and saw a flustered Curie trying to deal with the majority of injured and sick settlers who had fled from the menace to the south, while a steady Doc Fellows kept others calm. There was Danse, barking orders to the runners that were to disperse over the Commonwealth. Up on the battlements, MacCready and a few of the sharpshooters were scanning to the south, keeping an eye for any enemy movements. Cait and Strong seemed like they were gearing up for war.

Everything was teetering on the edge of everything.

Nate walked up towards the battlements to the south, and stared over the great sea and everything. In the far distance, he could see Quincy. That collection of destroyed buildings and lights and whatever other horrors he had allowed to fester in his hesitance.

It wasn't the end of the world. He was a rational man. He knew as much.

But from here, he thought he could see it all the same.

 **A/N:** And thus the conclusion of _Zugzwang_! I thoroughly enjoyed writing this story, even though it is admittedly darker and more melancholy than _Détente._ But then again, I knew from the beginning that this wasn't going to be a happy ending; the dark undercurrents of wasting time and getting distracted had to be addressed in the narrative. It was always my plan to have the story continue beyond _Zugzwang_ , and this is the best time to cut it off. What will happen next? I'm afraid that you'll have to find out…

A few thoughts before I go:

On killing Fawkes, there was simply no other choice. Lucy Martel's story is profoundly sad at its core, and I wanted to highlight the fact that, at the end of the day, perhaps Lucy could have run away and disappeared. But she chose to keep pushing after revenge. And revenge is not a victimless endeavor; no matter what happens, lives are changed or lost. And it's rarely in a way that we can expect. So Fawkes' death was the final reminder to her just how pointless the entire thing is. If Arthur hadn't forgiven her, I imagine she might have just wandered into the Glowing Sea to let the Wastes take her.

Lucy is a favored character of mine. Her name is also meaningful on multiple levels: "Lucy" derives from the Latin original "Lucius," which means "of light." "Martel" was taken from the name of Charles Martel, the great Frankish ruler whose victory at the Battle of Tours more or less would set in motion the developments of feudal Europe and the nation-states that followed in the centuries after. Also, "Martel" is Old French for "The Hammer"…which means, yes, technically speaking one of my characters' names means _Hammer of Light._ And it's fitting in many ways: Lucy is a fundamentally good person at her core (Light). But she is violent and impulsive, and while certainly a great warrior to have at the side of the ruler would never be the one who could lead properly. Her solutions would lack subtlety, and would reign in violence…kind of like a hammer. And that's another reason why she was so adrift for ten years: She knew that she was not destined to be a great leader, but Sarah was. And losing her is like a hammer losing the blacksmith that wields it.

A few people have commented on the relationship that Lucy and Sarah had, and the relationship that Lucy and Arthur had of Sarah. Because Sarah Lyons the character wasn't the best written, the best I could do was make her a cypher, or a symbol for others to project their own feelings and ideals onto. To Arthur, she was a sort of motherly figure, someone whom he aspired to. For Lucy? It's perhaps a little more complicated than that. While Arthur mentioned that Lucy viewed Sarah as a sort of sisterly figure, the sheer dogged passion that Lucy pursued justice for her suggested – as a few readers pointed out – that perhaps there were romantic feelings between the two, or at least that Lucy held a torch for Sarah. My official opinion on the matter?...It's possible. I certainly didn't _intend_ that from the start, but I can see where the interpretation comes from and I won't necessarily quash it. I viewed it more of a Greek tragedy, the kind where families are ripped apart and the end just leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. But there is hope for healing. Arthur forgiving and then reconciling with Lucy is certainly a good first step.

The votes are in! By the decree of the readers, the Trial of the Institute Remnant…shall be its own standalone story. That's what I was hoping for, to be honest, because a Tetralogy interests me a little more than a Trilogy of stories. Also, my plans for the direct sequel to Zugzwang are pretty grand in scale; I don't want the trial to get overlooked or shunted to the side. So expect the first chapter of the Trial story…oh, I wanna say within a week or two. I'll write it, and then I'll jump into the Zugzwang sequel. But I won't write both at the same time. I think that's too much, don't you?

And finally, I apologize for the constant cliffhangers in this story. I will admit to a sense of sadistic pleasure in watching you all squirm in the comments/reviews, but I'll try not to get too Walking Dead on you in future installments. But still…it was pretty damned fun. Because I'm evil. LOL.

Alright, that about wraps it up! Thanks again, guys. I think you'll like the trial of the Institute. About time we had our day in court, hmm?

Until next time.

- _The Fighting Irishman_


End file.
